


In The House of the Rising Sun

by transandrewminyard (nocturnalboys)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: 1800's, Bandit! Neil, Bandits & Outlaws, Blood and Gore, Demons, F/F, F/M, Gun Violence, M/M, Medical Examiner! Andrew, Multi, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Trans Aaron Minyard, Trans Andrew Minyard, Trans Female Character, Trans Katelyn, Trans Male Character, Trans Neil Josten, Wild West - AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnalboys/pseuds/transandrewminyard
Summary: Andrew Minyard, in his most desperate moment, made a bargain with a man who wasn't entirely human. He did not regret it. He does not regret the new life he built for himself and his twin, in the mostly peaceful town of Millport, Arizona.There are others like him. On the rails, Neil "Striker" Josten plagues Arizona territory, robbing trains at every turn, seemingly invincible. When Neil meets his match on a steam engine, not even lead in his gut can keep him down. But when he wakes up on Andrew's autopsy table, the crossroad of their lives will take them both in a new, dangerous direction.





	1. Part One: Red River Valley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paleromantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleromantic/gifts).



> Hey y'all I've been working on this for,,, quite a while lol I just felt like I needed to get it out there !!! I hope you all enjoy this,, it's only part one, I'm not entirely sure when I will be updating,, it probably won't be regular by any means but. Yeah, here you go!

_”Savva went forth into the alone from the city into the fields. He walked on through the fields in great wretchedness and sorrow, seeing no one ahead or behind him. And he conceived an evil idea and said, “If anyone, whether man or demon, would come to my aid, I would serve the devil himself!” And having conceived this idea, he continued to walk alone through the fields. Having gone a little way, he heard a voice calling him by name. Turning around, he saw a young man running swiftly towards him, motioning for him to wait. The young man - or, rather, the devil himself, who is always abroad - came up to Savva and they bowed courteously to one another...”  
-The Tale of Savva Grudtsyn, Russian Folklore_

_“My friend, the truth is always implausible, did you know that? To make the truth more plausible, it's absolutely necessary to mix a bit of falsehood with it. People have always done so.”  
\- Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Demons_

***

There are places in the open wild where, if one is willing and alone, a bargain can be struck.

In the naked darkness of the prairie, things are no different. Just as in the forests where moonlight cannot reach the earth, just as in the eons old shadows of underground rivers, a veil between worlds grows so thin that it tears. Movement becomes possible, from the beyond to the corporeal, the imagined to the real.

Lost in the desert, Andrew Minyard made his own bargain. He won and he lost, and he lived with the invitation he had offered ever since. He did not regret it. 

***

Millport, Arizona was a town built to last. Where the surrounding plains were flat and dry, Millport sat at the bottom of a valley fed by the single tributary of a river. The hills rose to hem it in, hands cupping the life-giving stream of water, cradling it close. 

The town itself was not an accident born from the rush for precious metals. Rather, it was a product of community. In 1879, striking railroad workers building the Southern Pacific line had come upon the valley. They were far from home, and the place welcomed them. The railroad continued on without them, but the first buildings of their town soon rose on the banks of the river. Years passed, and more families arrived. Millport was a welcoming place, it seemed.

High above the streets lining the valley floor, wildflowers climbed the eastern slope, the air growing thinner and clearer with elevation. The inhabitants of the little town were diverse, true, but from the crest of the hill the town appeared as a child’s toy, the river like a misplaced ribbon, its people like ants.

The county coroner lived in a quiet homestead atop the crest of the hill, a blue house that stood off on its own, isolated. Often, the townspeople would wonder exactly when the house got there, but no one could seem to agree on a date. The coroner himself was as standoffish as his home, rarely interacting with the townspeople. Unless, of course, they needed him. 

When he did come into town on his own, Andrew Minyard associated with only two people; his brother, the sheriff, and Renee Walker, the chaplain of Millport’s church. Maybe he was just deeply religious, it was said. The man’s business was death, after all. Perhaps all he needed was some comfort.

Although, it was also said that at sunset, Andrew Minyard could also be seen walking along the crest of the valley with an unfamiliar man, tall, with hard shoulders. No one had ever seen the other man’s face, and no one was going to ask any questions. They did walk very close, it was suggested. Did the man have more to hide than he let on?

There was also the other theory; that the stranger was the devil, giving Andrew Minyard his secrets.

***

Andrew played cards with Satan and kept placing higher bets. Andrew was selling his soul to the devil, one sliver at a time. Andrew was lonely and so desperate for a drinking buddy that even the fiend himself couldn’t resist coming back time after time. Andrew was under a curse. Andrew had musical talents he kept to himself, and he beat the lord of flies in a contest every Friday night. Andrew had saved Lucifer’s life, and now he was owed favors. Andrew was just so bad at praying that he attracted negative attention.

These were the things that were said about Andrew Minyard.

***

They were right about one thing, anyway, Andrew thought as he sat on the back porch of his house one afternoon in April. Andrew did have a musical talent that he went on keeping secret. Lazily, he let his fingers slide down the worn strings of a battered spanish guitar. While he had only been playing since his teens, Andrew could imagine the guitar was his birthright, a relic from Puerto Rican ancestors he had never met but that his late mother claimed he was descended from. Certainly, when he played, performing only for the wild grasses and the occasional flock of birds, Andrew could close his eyes and picture a much different life for himself.

Not out of spite, though. This life was also one he had chosen for himself, and it seemed to be working out well enough.

Laying across the cracked, sun-bleached boards of the porch, Andrew’s shadow rippled in a way that ought not to have been possible. Andrew sighed, playing a single loud D chord. “Don’t listen. You know I don’t like it when I have an audience.”

There was no response. Andrew took the silence as a good sign. Whistling under his breath, Andrew strummed aimless chords, watching distant cirrus clouds dance around each other in the wide expanse of sky. He wasn’t in the mood to play a song. Not that he could think of one he wanted to play, anyhow. The round tones of the guitar rang over patches of wildflowers, a soft breeze disturbing a clump of goldenrod that seemed to sway in the sound.

Footsteps disturbed Andrew’s peace, hurriedly approaching the house, moving up onto the front porch. Around the house, Andrew could make out the sounds of a frantic knock at the door. “Andrew, are you home?” Renee Walker’s voice echoed. “We need you, there’s a body! Come quickly.”

Andrew set his guitar down, standing up and brushing pollen from his slacks. Break time was over. He jogged around to the front of the house, waving to the chaplain to catch her attention. “I’m here, I was in the back. Is it far? Do I need a horse?”

Renee made a face, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her trousers. “No, I wouldn’t say you need a horse. Actually, the body is at the church. Just hurry, I’ll explain on the way.”

“So close?” Andrew raised an eyebrow, starting to follow Renee down the long and winding path to the bottom of the valley. Dust rose from the track in brown plumes. It had been some time since the last rain. “Is it someone we know?”

“About that.” Renee fell silent, leaving the insects buzzing in the fen to either side of the track to fill the pause. “It’s not anyone from around here, that’s for sure. We just need to get there fast, before anyone else notices. He’s in the graveyard, so hopefully that will buy us some time.”

Andrew grunted, feeling his patience begin to slip. “Enough with all this beating around the bush. What am I dealing with?”

“I swiped this from the post office. I’m not a professional, I’ll need your opinion, but I think this is our John Doe.” Renee spun around, walking backwards for a moment or two to draw a folded square of paper from the pocket of her trousers. Andrew snatched the paper, unfolding it. 

He read it once, then again. “Is this a prank?” He asked, reading it a third time just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “Wanted,” the paper announced, “Dead or Alive, for the sum of $5000 dollars: Neil “Striker” Josten, for the notorious robberies of banks and trains. Five feet, three inches tall. Red hair, blue eyes. Contact Pinkerton National with relevant information.” Beneath this helpful description was a pencil sketch of a cold looking young man, face patchworked by various scars.

“No, it’s not. I just thought getting you was the right thing to do.” Renee sighed. “You know if other people found him they might go for the reward money right away. But it is your job to investigate unnatural death. And even if he is a criminal, he needs a death certificate.”

Andrew heaved out a sigh, sticking the paper into his own pocket. “It is my job. Joy. How did you find him?”

“I was putting flowers on some of the headstones. You know how towards the back there are some old trees? I found him lying in the shade of one. There was no smell, no scavengers, so he can’t have been dead for long, but I felt his neck and there was no pulse at all. He was cold, too.”

The ground levelled out as the two of them passed into town, a small wrought-iron gate delineating the place where main street began. It was a relatively quiet day, a few families out in their gardens, a stagecoach rumbling through town on its journey. At the post office, a stack of newspapers were being unloaded from a buggy. Hopefully no one would think too hard about his presence, Andrew thought as the passed by the saloon, a couple of cowboys sitting on the porch turning to watch him go.

A trestle bridge crossed over the river, which today was a lazy greenish color, still flowing but moving sluggishly. On the other side, tucked into the foothill of the western slope, Millport’s church stood out clearly, white stucco against the dark earth. Stretching out behind it, enjoying the shade of a few hardy trees, was a small graveyard. The long grass was a riot of insect wings as Renee led Andrew through the rows of headstones, disturbed grasshoppers taking wing to evade the intruders.

“Which tree?” Andrew asked, peering into the grove. “I can’t see him from here.” 

Renee stepped carefully around the last row of graves, beckoning Andrew to follow her into the darkness pooling beneath the wings of the trees. “Here,” she said, lowering her voice. Sure enough, there was a man curled on his side against the gnarled trunk of one tree. In the shade, his eyes closed, he could almost be sleeping.

But this was the sleep of death. Andrew took in the slack of his jaw, the red smears of blood still damp on the grass beneath him. The man wore a thin flannel shirt, which was mostly untucked, and simple grey trousers. There was a pistol laying beside him on the grass, not far from his hand. Andrew bent down, took the picture from his pocket.

“No question.” He looked up at Renee. “That’s our man. How he got here, I have no clue. But it’s him alright.” Neil Josten didn’t really look like a hardened criminal in death, but there was no doubt that the picture and description on the wanted poster matched him. Andrew gently pressed two fingers to Neil’s throat, which was cold. No pulse. “Alright, I’m calling it. I declare him dead. Legally and shit.”

“Are you going to autopsy? If you want to take my cart I’ll help you hitch it.” Renee offered, gesturing towards the small barn on the other side of the church. 

Andrew picked up the pistol. It was evidence, if anything. “I think I am.” He was intrigued, after all. Lifting from his knees, he scooped the corpse into his arms, letting Neil’s head loll against his shoulder. He was as light as a child, and offered no resistance; Andrew probably wouldn’t have a hard time carrying him back alone, but then he would be easily spotted. At least with the cart he could cover Neil up.

Renee coaxed her pony from the barn, hitching her small cart so that Andrew could set Neil down inside. There were a few burlap sacks in the bottom of the cart, which Andrew draped carefully over Neil. “I would give him last rites or something,” Renee sighed as they started back towards Andrew’s house, “but I don’t know what religion he practiced, if any. It would be insensitive of me to give him the wrong treatment.”

“I am positive that you’re the only person in this town who would be seriously considering giving respectful last rites to a bandit.” Andrew laughed under his breath. “If Aaron knew what we were doing right now he’d have a fit.”

“Oh, please Andrew. He’s the sheriff, it’s his job to have fits.”

Andrew shrugged. It may have been Aaron’s job to professionally have a stick up his ass, but the less he breathed down Andrew’s neck the better. He and Aaron were never truly on the best of terms, but in Millport at least they had an understanding.

Aaron was the only person on earth who knew the full details of Andrew’s bargain, because he was part of it too.

Renee suspected, but there were stories to be told about her as well. She understood the importance of not prying into a man’s past. It was what made her decent company. Yet, Andrew had never told her the full truth, and he doubted that he ever would.

In time, Renee’s pony came to a halt before Andrew’s house, content to graze on his front lawn while Andrew lifted Neil from the cart and carried him inside. Most of the house was furnished in a cluttered but mostly normal way, a study, a sitting room and a kitchen occupying the first floor. However, what Andrew wanted was the basement. “Can you get the door?” He asked, leaning to one side of the hallway as Renee opened the basement door, holding it open so he and Neil could pass.

It was ice cold in the basement. Most of the electricity that ran to the house was devoted to powering the clinical glow of the basement lights, which shone over an unfinished concrete floor, a single stainless steel autopsy table. Andrew set Neil down on the table, placing the pistol in an evidence tray. If this went to county court, it would be important that he played by the rules. This was a high profile situation. Grabbing a legal pad and a pencil from the table of tools pressed against the wall, he quickly scribbled down the date and time of death.

“Are you going to watch?” Andrew asked, looking towards where Renee stood across the table.

“If it’s not a problem with you,” she smiled slightly, “I like watching you work. It’s interesting. And you know I have a strong stomach.”

Andrew slid on a pair of tight latex gloves, reaching to unbutton Neil’s flannel. “Then watch, I don’t mind.” As Neil’s chest came into view, Andrew realized that he had his work cut out for him. Part of the autopsy would be the catalogue every scar and mark on the deceased. Neil’s entire torso was covered in marks, both old and new. Deep scars plunged across his midsection, the narrow cuts of a blade. Twisted trails revealed the paths of bullets, tight shining patches demarcating old burns.

Although, what interested Andrew more than all this was the tight fabric wrapped around Neil’s chest. While it could be a hasty bandage, an attempt to stop the bleeding from the wound that would take his life, Neil bore three recent gunshot wounds just above his navel. It was clear to Andrew that these had killed him. He would have to dig the bullets out later.

Back to the matter at hand, though. The fabric would have to go. Reaching for his scalpel, Andrew cut the fabric down the middle, confirming his suspicion instantly. Sure enough, Neil’s chest looked the way Andrew’s did. Letting out a soft sigh, Andrew let the fabric fall. Sure, Neil was dead, but if it were Andrew on the table, he wouldn’t want himself exposed. The dead body was still a body. Grabbing for his legal pad, Andrew gave Neil a once-over before scrawling a capital “M” on the page. That was how Neil had presented in life, and he would probably want the same treatment in death.

It took some thought, but Andrew catalogued every scar marking Neil’s torso, including the three wounds that probably killed him. Andrew would guess that the cause of death was blood loss, but he would have to get inside to tell for sure.

On the floor, Andrew’s shadow rippled, holding up a hand and waving it, trying to get Andrew’s attention. If he would just be patient, Andrew thought, annoyed, Renee would leave and Andrew could uphold his part of the bargain. Pestering Andrew wasn’t going to help him go any faster. Pointedly ignoring the movement, Andrew went for his scalpel again. First things first, the Y-incision. It would give Andrew access to Neil’s entire chest cavity and torso, the incision forming an angle between the points of his breastbone, diving down over his navel.

Andrew took a deep breath, steadying his hand. He had done this many times, but he still didn’t want to risk fucking up. With Renee watching him, the pressure was on. Slowly, he lowered the point of the scalpel to the rightmost point of Neil’s collarbone, letting the tip rest again his skin.

Before Andrew could begin the cut, Renee gasped, taking a step away from the table. “Andrew!” She whispered, eyes wide.

No, it couldn’t be. Andrew looked up, his gaze locking with a pair of ice blue eyes. Which were open. Time slowed, then stood still. Andrew felt cold as he realized the tip of his scalpel was rising and falling with the uneasy rhythm of breath.

“Where am I? Who are you people?” Came the rasp of a voice from Neil’s lips, worn out and dry as the desert.

He was alive. Impossibly alive. Andrew took the point of his scalpel away, dropping it to the side. “I think I’d like to ask the same. Who the hell are you?” Andrew replied, feeling the fabric of his world slide out somewhat from beneath his feet.

For a single bizarre moment, Andrew thought how lucky it was that he hadn’t already submitted a death certificate. That would have been supremely embarrassing.

***

The nature of Andrew’s bargain was this: the demon would alter the appearances of Andrew and his twin. He would create a new life for them, give them both purpose. In return, Andrew would feed the demon, and if the need arose, do his bidding, provide a human anchor for him to remain in the physical world.

The demon, when all was said and done, could be tolerable. At times he was all too human, even using a human alias. 

This was how Andrew knew the world was more than facts and empirical evidence. He had lived alongside a being from beyond the frame of reality for two, going on three years. In a way, it was unsurprising that he was not alone in this experience. Yet, watching Neil struggle to sit up on the autopsy table as though only minutes ago the man was not legally deceased, Andrew still felt distinctly astonished. 

It wasn’t so much the knowledge that yes, other unexplainable things did happen. It was the sudden realization that at that moment, everything was changing. The world he knew, however strange, was altered. It would never be the same again.

***

The last thing Neil could remember was watching Mary Hatford fall from the train.

They had been in the dining car, moving towards the front of the train. There was nothing in the dining car for them, other than scared passengers, but Neil and his mother cared more about the lockbox in the engineer’s car than spare change from common folks. Neil remembered seeing a man force himself into the car. He had been in plainclothes, a simple black shirt and trousers. Another passenger? Neil held his ground while his mother dueled with a train guard further up, taking shots at her from the coal car.

“Stand down if you know what’s good for you,” Neil remembered saying, but the man didn’t stop. He almost seemed to disappear, blinking out of existence and reappearing just behind Neil, lifting Mary Hatford by the back of her coat and tossing her out of the open door.

The shock was instant, flooding Neil’s system like liquid nitrogen. How easy that had been. Quickly, Neil drew his pistol, but as soon as he’d cocked it the world felt a thousand times slower, his finger moving towards the trigger like it was sinking through molasses.

“Au revoir, Neil Josten,” the man said. Neil’s shadow recoiled under him, struggling against a river of slow time, but it was too late. With a cold look on his face, the man pulled a handgun from his holster, and Neil’s world was erased into a dark fuzz.

In the dizzying present, Neil was dimly aware of the bullets still in his gut. There was a man standing over him, his face a mask of incredulity. A woman stood in the corner of the room, looking astonished, hands over her mouth. “Who am I?” Neil managed, forcing his hands to obey him as he attempted to button his shirt back up. His binder was torn, but whoever this man was, he didn’t seem to care about Neil’s body, strangely enough. “That’s a tough one on the best of days.”

The blond man’s jaw twitched, and for a moment Neil was sure he fucked up. The ghost of a grin flickered onto the man’s face. “Smart fucking mouth, huh? Just your name is fine.”

In the corner, the woman whispered quietly, crossing herself hastily before looking apprehensively back at Neil. Could she see the truth of him? Or, well, Neil thought, almost laughing, it must be a real shock to see a dead man sit up and start talking. “You’ve seen the posters though, what’s the point? Everyone’s seen the posters. Neil Josten. And you? Were you even going to tell me before you cut me open? Rude.”

Some animals had natural fight or flight responses. To run, to camouflage. After years of life on the run, Neil’s adrenaline went right to his mouth. These days he found himself mouthing off to almost any potential danger. Maybe someday he would learn that the things he said had consequences, but today was not that day.

The man crossed his arms, the grin threatening his lips a little more. “I usually don’t introduce myself to folks I’m about to autopsy. Doctor Andrew Minyard. Not at your service anymore, since you’re apparently doing just fine. I’d like to know what the hell happened to you, anyway.”

Andrew didn’t seem too shell shocked to have seen Neil wake up. Did he want to reveal the truth about himself in front of two strangers, though? The woman had also recovered from her surprise, looking Neil over. “I’m Reverend Renee Walker. But you can just call me Renee. I’d also like to know… are we about to enter the last days? Are the dead rising?” She said it somewhat jokingly, but Neil could sense a hint of fear behind the words.

“No, no, I wasn’t dead,” Neil lied, sliding a hand under his shirt, gritting his teeth as he dug it into one of the already half-closed wounds in his gut, “I… I have a lot of powerful people after me. Pinkertons and my father’s family. The Polish mob, not a huge deal.” Tensing, he teased one bullet from its home in his innards. “They have connections, I know they can make all kinds of poisons.”

Hopefully they would buy this. Neil held the bullet up, into the light. “I think this might be coated with something… it probably would have made me seem dead, but didn’t kill me.”

“Do you by any chance want me to take the other two out of you?” Andrew asked, looking satisfied with that answer for the time being. “Can’t be comfortable.”

Neil snorted, steeling himself to pry the other two bullets from his gut. The wounds had been slowly closing from the inside out, making it relatively simple to retrieve the slugs. “It wasn’t, but I think I’m fine. I’m a hardened criminal, I’ve been in worse scrapes.”

“Really. Your tolerance for pain is impressive,” Renee remarked, approaching Neil. Neil did not miss the look she gave to Andrew. “Still, you probably should take it easy for a while. You’re in no state to try and leave here now. People would notice, and you do have a reward on your head. Besides, whoever shot you might try it again.”

Right. Neil remembered his mother, disappearing into the waves of grass alongside the train. He remembered the man he could not fight. What would stop him from chasing Neil all the way to this place? “Right. Andrew, was I the only one? Did anyone find the body of a woman nearby?”

Andrew slowly shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. You were alone.”

Neil breathed out, his head starting to pound. Could it be that he had watched his mother die? He couldn’t think about that right now. “I see. Never mind, forget I mentioned it. You wouldn’t be willing to let me lie low here, would you? I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for $5,000 dollars.”

Andrew huffed, amused. “I won’t turn you in. You interest me too much. And I really don’t give a shit how many trains you robbed or whatever. Money is fake.”

“Damn right money is fake,” Neil replied, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Is there anywhere I can sleep? That isn’t made of metal?”

“Upstairs, you can take the couch.” Moving tentatively closer to the table, Andrew offered Neil a hand. “Do you need help getting out of there?”

Although his body screamed with resistance, Neil ignored the offer of help, forcing himself to climb down from the table and get to his feet. Vertigo hit him, but he managed to stay standing. After all, this wasn’t his first rodeo, or even his second or third. Neil had been mostly-dead more times than he had fingers to count on. “Trust me, I’m made of sterner stuff.” He cast a quick look to Renee. “Aren’t you supposed to be all holy? Don’t you have a whole bunch of rules against stealing? Why aren’t you turning me in?”

“The real thief is the American government and the power of capital,” Renee answered simply, not elaborating.

“Uhuh.” Neil took a few shaky steps towards the stairs. “Got it.” He blinked away shards of black that threatened to cloud his vision entirely as he mounted the first step.

Andrew was beside him, offering his hand again. “I have perfect faith you can do this yourself. But I am worried for my floor. In case you fall and smash your head on it.” Andrew said, and Neil had a moment to take in the intensity of his eyes, which were brown and deep, like twin wells in the desert. There was something in them that was hard, like flint, something that said yes, Andrew absolutely meant business. He was not a man to pull a punch. But beyond the unflinching hardness there was a deeper pull.

Neil did not know what Andrew wanted, but his eyes said that he was searching for something. Even in a crisis, that smallest look into the man’s psyche made Neil pause, arrested him for long enough that he decided it was not worth it to struggle onwards up the entire staircase on his own. “I… well, okay.” He sighed, letting Andrew take his hand to steady him as he walked the rest of the way. Andrew’s hand was small but warm, the tips of his fingers oddly more calloused than his palm. 

Andrew led him into a warmly furnished but somewhat cluttered living room. Pushing a few yellowed newspapers off the couch, Andrew hunted around for a moment or two before locating a green throw blanket. “Do you want the lights off or on?” He asked, once Neil had settled himself down on the cushions.

“On.” Neil replied. If someone was coming, he would be more aware with the lights on. Even if Andrew didn’t seem totally antagonistic, Neil still had to keep his guard up. Anything could happen, and he had to be ready for it.

“If you need me,” Andrew said, stepping out of the room, “I’ll be on the back porch. Toilet is down the hall, it’s got running water. Sleep tight.”

If Neil had replied, he couldn’t remember what it was he said. His eyes were falling shut all on their own, each of his eyelashes suddenly weighing a thousand pounds. Sleep came before he could recognize it was upon him.

***

Once Renee left, Andrew brewed a pot of coffee, pouring it black into a chipped pewter cup. The entire time, his shadow seemed irate, tapping its foot, crossing its arms and shaking its head. “Patience is a virtue, you know.” Andrew said, taking his coffee out to the porch and sitting down beside his guitar. He didn’t feel much like playing anymore, though. He looked to the horizon, let his eyes unfocus amid the shifting colors there. His small barn sat some distance away, the red paint turned gold against the dying light. Sooner or later he ought to feed and water his horses, but not right now.

“You know what?” Andrew took a sip of his coffee, looking out into the orange waves of grass, backlit by the setting sun. “Say your piece. I’m waiting.”

Andrew’s shadow rippled slowly, peeling off the surface of the porch, and where before there was only empty space, a man appeared. To the naked eye he could be anyone; tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair and green eyes. A black shirt and black slacks. Andrew knew different. This was an entity Andrew was very familiar with.

“Andrew,” Kevin said, firmly, “what the hell?”

“Hello to you too, Kevin,” Andrew sighed, taking another sip of coffee, “What exactly are you annoyed about? Perhaps you could elucidate me?”

Kevin did not sit down beside Andrew, remaining standing and crossing his arms firmly over his chest. “I think we both know the man sleeping on your couch isn’t alone. I could feel a presence all around him. That story about poison… bullshit. He has a patron of some kind, and he’s just in our house.”

“He’s interesting. He doesn’t seem to be causing any immediate harm.” Andrew shrugged. “Sometimes I get bored. What’s wrong with keeping him around for observation?”

“He’s wanted by the government. And I can’t tell who his hitchhiker is, or what their intentions are.” Kevin’s eyes flashed briefly in the light of the sunset, a green flicker pooling over them like the gaze of an animal in the dark. “We have agreements for a reason.”

Andrew made his demon wait, taking a leisurely mouthful of coffee, swishing it around, swallowing. “And others of your kind were not part of them. I think you are just grumpy that I didn’t get to feed you. Well, he is still alive. Unless you want me to slit his throat in his sleep and toss you his heart like you’re a goddamn dog under the table, don’t complain.”

For a moment Kevin seemed to weigh his options; keep pushing, or let Andrew win for the time being. They were both well aware how stubborn Andrew could be. He caved, finally sitting down on the porch beside Andrew. “Fine. For now. But this isn’t the end of it. Renee suspects something, I think. She’s coming closer to figuring us out.”

“And why does that matter? She’s always known there was something fucked up going on. Honestly, I think sometimes I should just tell her and get it over with.”

Kevin looked at Andrew, astonished. “You wouldn’t. Don’t say shit like that.”

“But I would. I mean it.” Andrew shrugged. “Aaron has it easy. He doesn’t have to live with you hanging around all the time. Renee is the only other person in this goddamn town I can give the time of day. All I’m saying is that sometimes I think about telling her.”

The demon beside Andrew gently placed his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. It was almost incorporeal, like the feeling of a sudden shadow falling, but there was an inner weight to it. “I know that. I know it wasn’t in our deal to keep me a secret. I just wish you would think about it.”

“I think about enough bullshit for both of us,” Andrew muttered, but the vitriol was not in it. He took a sip of his coffee, offering the mug to Kevin. Kevin did not look like a demon, true, but as he accepted the cup, bringing it to his lips, Andrew could imagine that his teeth were pointed.

***

The nature of Andrew’s bargain was this.

His mouth had been so dry. The last cup of water he’d had was handed to him through the bars of a cell. Yuma Prison was far behind him now, but what lay ahead? Dusty prairie and barren desert. Andrew had sweated and bled for his freedom, and now he wandered alone, a piece of dirt in the empty eye of god. The moon was an evil pearl gazing down at him from an impossibly black ocean of sky. His footsteps stretched out for miles behind him.

Andrew wanted to scream, but he didn’t know if he had it in him. The night was frigid, but he knew he would not survive another scorching day on the open sand. For the past four days he had been running, clinging onto the thread of a life outside the prison where he had spent the last three years. He was only 19. Everything seemed so unfair. But now the fight was giving out. He had spent his rage, thrown it wide to the purple shadows on the horizon.

Shaking, Andrew took another step, his tattered shoe sliding in the blue-black sand. At first he had been taken in in Phoenix, for cross-dressing. Then they had found, or fabricated, more charges. The prison had been so cruel. A thought occurred to him. Even if he was about to die, he would do it here, on the other side of those walls. His body would mummify in the light of the hard sun, and insects would lay eggs on it and animals would feast on it. No human would ever lay a hand on him again.

Perhaps he had enough in him for one last scream, just enough to let the world know he had been there. Exhausted, his body tingling, he finally gave in, falling to his knees in the sand. The corners of his eyes burned, the ghosts of tears building at them.

“Fuck this!” Andrew managed to shout, the grave rasp of his voice echoing across the shadow until the night took it. He punched the sand weakly. He wondered briefly what had become of his twin, whether life had been treating Aaron this hard. “Fuck this.” Andrew repeated, quieter. He wished he had a drink so he could mute the end, when it came.

Suddenly, the sand rustled, as though someone were running up behind Andrew. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, his stomach turning cold. No, they couldn’t have caught up with him. Had all this been for nothing? “Who’s there?” Andrew gasped.

It was not a man. Andrew did not know how he could tell that so clearly, but as the figure passed him, stopping to turn and face him, a deeply uneasy feeling settled around Andrew’s shoulders like a cloak made out of needles. “Fuck this? You really thought those were going to be your last words?” The figure asked, voice clean and cold. If Andrew let his eyes unfocus, he thought the shape might have two sets of arms. Or were they wings?

“Maybe so.” Andrew spat, the anger rising back in him. “But I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger took a moment to think. “I have another name, but I can’t say it. Let me think of a better one.”

Andrew tilted his head back and began to laugh. “Are you Satan? Are you finally here to tell me how bad I fucked up?”

“No, definitely not Satan, not quite” the stranger sighed, “And no. I don’t even know you. But I could. You can call me Kevin.”

“Kevin?” Andrew nearly burst into hysterics. “What a lame-ass name. All this ambiance, for you to tell me your fucking name is Kevin. Oh, I’m so scared, please don’t kill me out here... big fucking whoop.”

“You don’t have to die out here.” Kevin replied. “We both have something that can benefit the other. You have a physical body, agency. I have power.”

“What are you offering me? Is this some kind of trade?”

“It can be. What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on now, this is serious. What do you want, Andrew Joseph Minyard? See, I know things about you. I can prove myself more if that’s what you need.”

“No, no, I get it. I want to look like a man. I want my brother to look like a man too. However far you can take that. And that’s not all. I want a new life for us, a completely new life for both of us, where no one from Phoenix can ever find us. Can you do that?” Andrew asked. This had to be a dream. Or maybe he was dying, and this was a hallucination his fading brain had come up with to comfort him.

He could hear the smile in the demon’s voice. “That’s all? I can do that. In return, I’ll need to be able to use your body as an anchor. I can’t stay here for long on my own, but I need to stay. I can’t go back to the place I’m from, at least not now. And you’ll have to feed me. I can’t take sustenance on my own, but whatever you bring to me I can eat. And if it’s necessary, if I’m in danger, I’ll need to be able to possess you, to get us both out safe. Is that a deal?”

Andrew imagined the sun rising on his cold body. What would be the harm in agreeing, even if it was all a dream? Andrew forced himself to his feet, nodding. “It’s a deal alright. How do we do this?”

Kevin stepped away, the moonlight striking his face, and instantly he looked only like a man, nothing more. “It depends. It’s your bargain, Andrew.”

Andrew held back another wave of laughter that threatened to spill from his lips. “I’m sick of seeing my own blood. No blood pacts. What else is there? A friendly handshake maybe?”

“Even that would work. Even just saying that you agree, solemnly, should work.”

“Then I accept.” Andrew held his arms outstretched. “Let’s do this. All yours.”

Andrew’s shadow spun like the needle of a dizzy compass, whirling around until it fell like a bridge between him and Kevin. The demon seemed to melt, falling in an ashen rain into Andrew’s shadow, and the shadow took it, absorbing him. “Let’s make your new life.” Kevin’s voice rang in Andrew’s head, and then the desert, the cold moon and the open sand were gone.

***

When Neil woke again, he had a metallic taste in his mouth and a bit of a headache, but as he opened his eyes he was aware that his wounds had fully closed. Without moving, he looked slowly towards the door of the sitting room. Closed. The lights were still on. Where was that man, Andrew? Neil shifted on the couch, his stiff joints protesting, but a gentle hand on his side guided him back down. “Hey. Not yet.”

Neil turned over, facing Allison. He had grown used to her presence over the years. Once, it would have deeply bothered him not to have the option to be totally alone. Now, as he rolled over to find Allison, almost human but her skin luminous even in the lights of the room, sitting beside him on the couch. One of her hands rested on Neil’s side, but the other was in her lap, like a delicate bird roosting.

“I’m fine.” Neil rasped, trying to sit up again. This time, his demon let him.

“I know you’re at least okay. You have to remember, I’m the one patching you up all these times.” Allison sighed. “That was really, really fucking weird by the way. The way that doctor acted around you. I don’t believe that man has a medical degree…”

Neil rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from them. “He wrote that I was male. He had a whole little paper of notes, about all my scars and wounds and… I didn’t have long to look at it, but I’m pretty sure he put ‘M’ for sex. Do you think-”

“Aside from that. Sure, it was decent of him.” Allison scanned the cluttered room, her hand clenching in her lap. “I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t anything in particular he did. He wasn’t losing his mind over the fact that you just got up after being pretty dead. And I felt something when he was close to you, like I was being looked at. There was another force there, pushing at me. I had to push back.”

Slowly, Neil reached under his shirt, yanking the remains of his ruined binder out and holding it to the light. “Yeah. I got that too. But I guess on a different level than you. I wish you could fix more than just my body, this is gonna be a bitch to mend.”

Allison slowly laid back on the couch, her long, amber-colored hair spilling out around her, eyes falling shut. Neil often found himself forgetting that Allison was something more than human. At times, she could look almost mundane, but the faint radiant glow of her skin was a constant reminder of her truth. Now, she seemed tired. She probably was. Keeping Neil in working condition was a tall order. “Uhuh. I bet there’s a needle and thread somewhere in all this horseshit. I think this guy might be a hoarder, whatever else he is.”

“It’s not that bad, it really could be worse.” Neil stood, slowly, letting his legs adjust to his weight before trying to smooth down the front of his flannel. By some stroke of luck, his chest was on the smaller side, but it still bothered him to see even the slightest bump in the topography of his shirt. After a minute or two he gave up, feeling overexposed. Nothing he could do about that now.

It was within Allison’s realm to make Neil appear male, to alter his body just enough that his voice would deepen, that hair would grow in the right places. But no matter how many times they tried to fix his chest, it wouldn’t stick. Every time Neil got hurt, Allison’s powers would heal him completely, including his chest. They would keep trying, she had promised him. One day it would stay.

Once Neil’s dizziness subsided, he settled for tucking his shirt into his pants. Good enough. Turning, he made a loop around the room, hoping for some clue, some window into Andrew Minyard’s life. What was going on behind those hard brown eyes, anyway? There were a few bookshelves slumped against each other, but the books seemed completely miscellaneous, random genres and authors thrown together. There were a handful of books about medicine, but far less than Neil had been expecting.

There were no pictures. Neil had gotten used to seeing at least one tintype portrait of a house’s inhabitants. It was usually before he robbed them blind. He almost never took photographs with him, though. They were too sentimental, easily traced, and since they couldn’t really be sold, there was no point. Andrew had no photographs. In fact, he didn’t have any art, period. Curious.

In one corner there was a circular table, but it was overflowing with boxes of various sizes and shapes. Peering into one, Neil found that it was about half-full of cigars. Another box contained a leather stetson hat, but since it was still half wrapped in tissue paper, Neil guessed it had never been worn.

“Find anything interesting?” Allison asked, rousing herself.

“Not yet. This kind of feels like a room he just dumps things in. It almost doesn’t feel lived-in.” Neil frowned, picking up a massive stack of yellowed newspapers on a desk to reveal that the desk was actually a player piano. “Also it’s just stuff. I can’t tell what he cares about and what’s just storage.”

Allison opened her mouth to reply, but approaching footsteps in the hallway cut her off. “Shit,” she muttered, dissolving into a faint cloud of glowing pinpricks, hurrying to the shelter of Neil’s shadow like a swarm of bees taking refuge in their hive.

Neil weighed his options. He could pretend to have been asleep, but that was a cowardly move. He was infamous. He shouldn’t be afraid of the coroner; Andrew should be afraid of him. Steeling himself, Neil leaned against the player piano, his hands bracing on the closed lid. He was the Striker out on the rails, taking whatever he wanted from whoever he wanted. He wasn’t going to run away from Andrew just because he got a strange feeling around the man.

He didn’t have his gun, but that didn’t mean he was defenseless. Neil balled his fists, ready for the slightest danger, taking one last step back to keep his balance. Unfortunately, he hadn’t looked where he was stepping, and his shoe landed directly on one of the levers of the piano. The piano started up immediately, something inside clanking loudly before “Red River Valley” began to play from it at full volume.

Neil panicked, spinning around to look for a way to turn the damn thing off, but the damage was already done. The door to the room swung open, Andrew filling the doorway. “I see you’re having fun in here.” He snorted. “Are you enjoying the piano? I don’t know how to play, but I keep the thing around since it can play itself.”

Forcing himself back to an emotional state at least resembling calm, Neil turned to face him. “Oh, yeah, I was just curious to see if it would play. Sometimes these things are really delicate. What time is it?”

“It’s seven am.” Andrew gave Neil a wry smile. “You slept for a long while. How are we feeling?”

“Good as new.” Neil stuck his hands into the pockets of his slacks, trying to affect a casual stance. “Really, I think all I needed was a good night’s rest. Sleep is the best medicine.”

“Really? Here I was thinking the best medicine was morphine.” Andrew shrugged. “If you’re feeling better, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind joining me for breakfast then.”

Neil thought it over, the piano still belting out its tune. _Then come sit by my side if you love me,_ Neil could imagine the words sung out over the notes flowing from the pianola, _do not hasten to bid me adieu_. “I am a little hungry.” He admitted. Andrew probably wouldn’t poison him, right? Even if he did, Allison could probably handle it. “Sure. Anything I can do to help?”

“Oh? You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you.” Andrew turned, waving for Neil to follow after him. “I was expecting a freeloader. You can help by keeping me entertained.”

As Neil followed along behind Andrew, the last notes of the song trailed on his footsteps, plinking softly, the pianola running down. It was quiet in the dark halls of the house. How old was it? Neil couldn’t say. The boards creaked under his feet, but it didn’t feel like a place that had been built long ago. And there was electricity, for crying out loud, so it couldn’t be more than a few years old. At the end of the hall, around the corner, the tight space opened up into a relatively bright kitchen. The morning light filtered in through a large window, the warm breeze blowing the curtains to and fro. On a small, boxy, gas-burning stove, a tea-kettle was just starting to whistle, and a large pat of butter was sizzling in a cast-iron pan.

Andrew went right for a rickety-looking wooden table, pulling out one of the two chairs for Neil. “Go on, sit. All I need’s your mouth. For conversation.” Why did he have to clarify? Neil wondered, taking a seat anyway.

“What are you making?” He asked, once Andrew had focused his attention back on the stovetop.

“Just some eggs and toast. And coffee, if you like that. I don’t have any chickens, but Renee brings me eggs every once in a while. Sometimes I think I’m just a repository for her to deposit things she doesn’t want. Candles? Here you go. A set of forks but no spoons? Take it. That’s why she stays friends with me.”

It must be nice to have friends, Neil thought, but didn’t say. He settled for quietly rolling his eyes. “I’m sure that’s it. Not your charming personality.”

“Someone really must be feeling better, if he feels inclined to run his mouth.” Andrew snorted a laugh. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Fried, but with the yolk broken. What’s in the barn?” Neil had caught sight of the bulk of the barn outside the kitchen window, which faced out towards the open prairie. 

Andrew cast a quick look to it. “My horses. Two stallions. And a goat, but she only gives a little milk. Oh, and a couple of barn cats, but they come and go as they please.”

“Why two horses?” Neil asked, trying to imagine what it would look like for Andrew to get on a full-grown horse. He couldn’t have an easy time of it. Did he have to use a box or something to boost himself up?

“In case I have to ride out for a body. Sometimes I need to get there quickly, and if I bring a back-up horse, I can trade out if the first one gets overburdened. It also helps to have extra storage space, if I need to bring supplies with me. I usually can only autopsy bodies from nearby, it depends if I can get them back here or not, but if it’s an emergency and far away then I do need to bring some tools with me.” There was a sizzling sound as Andrew cracked an egg into the pan. “By the way, the water is boiling, if you want coffee.”

Neil shrugged. “I like bitter things. If I can have it black, then sure.”

Andrew brewed two cups, setting one down in front of Neil. “Careful. Hot. Now I have a question about your job. What exactly do you do?”

It was clear that there was no judgment inherent in Andrew’s question. Maybe on some level he just did want to know why Neil was a wanted man, aside from the general ‘robbing trains’ thing. “You sure you want to know? I’m real dangerous.”

“Enlighten me,” Andrew said, the hint of a smirk on his face.

“We started out with banks, in California. Mostly I was a distraction at first, a lost kid asking for help. It took everyone off guard when it turned out I was armed. Stuff like bribery would take too long, and we didn’t want to risk it. Doing fast, clean hits and moving on. That’s the way to stay alive. Once or twice we went on a string of stagecoach robberies, but those got old fast. Trains are the big-time, that’s where shit gets fancy.” Neil carefully sipped the coffee, pausing to adjust to the taste. “Huh. What is this?”

Andrew turned back to the frying pan, giving the eggs a nudge. “It’s Puerto Rican coffee. If you’ve never had it before it might take some getting used to. Now come on, I’m a curious man, I’d like details.”

Neil took another sip of the drink. It had substance, that was for sure. He had to struggle not to make a face. “Well, with trains usually the first thing is to scope out a good one, get a good schedule, find out who’s on board. That way there’s some rich fuck on there to steal from for sure. Usually these days a disguise is a must, and so’s a ticket with a fake name. Once the train is somewhere lonely, that’s when we hold her up. Usually it’s the easiest to take a hostage or two, but I’ve never hurt them.” 

Neil had been trying to effect a casual tone, in hopes that maybe he would frighten Andrew off from any further prying, but unfortunately it seemed to be having the opposite effect. Andrew nodded. “Fascinating. When do you kill?”

Slowly, Neil set his cup on the table. “I believe that’s for me to know and you to keep quiet about.”

Andrew responded with a laugh. “Very well. Suit yourself.” Then, something unexpected happened, shaking Neil to his core. Andrew pushed an egg onto a plate, turning to place it on the table, but as he did the light from the window caught him, soaking through his dirty blond hair, running tender fingers across his cheek and brow. Neil caught himself holding his breath, so taken aback was he by the thought that crossed his mind. Andrew Minyard just so happened to be pretty. So pretty, in fact, that not even Neil could ignore it. There was an unconventional handsomeness to him, that in the right light made it almost impossible for Neil not to stare.

He pulled his gaze away just in time, before Andrew could catch him looking. What a shitty trick for fate to play. 

***

Below, in the valley, Millport was waking up. Aaron Minyard watched the first stagecoaches rumble past, watched as the post office opened its doors, as the nearest saloon began to welcome its regulars back, or scrape them off the floor after a long night. It was going to be a warm day, he was sure of that. The rising sun was already glinting off his sheriff's badge, which was pinned proudly to the breast of his flannel shirt. Just because he didn’t really earn it didn’t mean he wouldn’t respect it.

Aaron leaned onto the wooden porch railing, feeling it creak reassuringly under his hands. So far so good. On the dirt road below, a handful of blackbirds fluffed their feathers in the dust, poking about in the weeds for their breakfast. Distracted momentarily by them, Aaron didn’t notice that his deputy had joined him on the porch until she opened her mouth. “Aaron, hey, there’s a job for us.”

Aaron jumped, spinning around so fast his hat almost fell off his head. Katelyn. Sure, this was a borrowed life, but he was sure meeting her wasn’t part of Andrew’s bargain. “Deputy,” he nodded, pulling himself together and managing not to completely embarrass himself, “what’s the problem?”

Katelyn stood quite a bit taller than Aaron, the heel in her boots not mitigating that fact. She wore sun-bleached jeans, and a tucked-in dress shirt, a vest thrown on but left open over it. Wrapped around her neck, a bandana, orange as summer lilies. Her hair, dusty brown and gently curled, fell partly over one shoulder, and there was a frown on her wide, soft mouth. Aaron had to try and remember not to memorize her appearance every time he looked at her. “There’s some trouble at the junction, up by Allantown. The train’s been stopped. A man was killed onboard, I just got the news at the post office. They want us down there.”

Any hopes for a peaceful morning flung themselves out of Aaron’s mind. “Fuck.” He muttered. “Yeah, we better get over there. Are the horses ready?”

“They can be.” Kately adjusted her hair, pushing her hat back on her head. Aaron had to struggle to pull himself away from watching her go through even the simplest of motions, heading to the side of the small jailhouse to lead their horses from the stable and saddle them. Katelyn easily moved to sit astride her bay stallion, while Aaron needed a minute or two to boost himself onto his draft horse. Sometimes he considered changing out for a smaller horse, but he was already attached to the large mare, so he would just have to suffer the consequences every time he went riding.

Allantown wasn’t a terribly far ride. Side-by-side, Katelyn and Aaron rode down main street, crossing the bridge that spanned the river, continuing along it as it flowed south past the little church and the graveyard. After a time, the valley opened up onto wide, dry plains, the river itself spreading out and slowing down, taking up its newfound space. A herd of bighorn sheep grazed in the distance, meandering across the plain like clouds that had drifted too low. Where the eastern slope of the valley dropped off into level ground, the plain was slightly hilly, the earth bobbing up and down in divots. Beyond that, on the horizon, the rooftops of Allantown were visible, the morning sun glowing like a huge eye behind them.

Katelyn, Aaron noted, was lovely for more than just her looks. The way determination flashed in her dark eyes, the willingness to get the job done. Her strong, brown hands gripping the reins were capable, reliable. These were the reasons Aaron had taken her on as deputy. They were also the reasons why he was falling in love with her.

He couldn’t be focusing on that right now. As the road brought them closer to Allantown, the train junction came into view, several platforms jutting out from the main row of houses, a sleek coal engine, smoke still lightly streaming from its stack. That had to be where they were headed. Aaron spurred his mare on, riding right up to the paving stones surrounding the junction, startling a small crowd of reporters, busybodies and train officials.

“Hey there sheriff,” called one reporter, as Aaron slid down from his horse. “Long time no see.” She grinned, revealing white teeth. “And deputy Katelyn. Mind if I tag along?”

Katelyn soon joined them, brushing the dust off her pants. “Dan Wilds, nice to run into you again. I don’t mind. Aaron?”

Aaron tipped his hat slightly to Dan. “I would say good morning, but it seems like that might be an overstatement. I don’t have any objections. What exactly are we dealing with?”

Tucking her pencil behind her ear, letting it slide into her close-cropped, tightly curled hair, Dan took a minute to flip through her notepad. “From what I’ve heard, there’s one dead man on the train, in the dining car. We’ve got a couple of witnesses, but they’re real shook up. I didn’t want to push them to talk to me. The man hasn’t been dead for more than an hour, he was only shot about ten minutes out of Allantown. That’s all.”

Aaron drew himself to his full height, trying to look impressive. “Thanks Dan.” He turned to the crowd. “Alright, if any witnesses could stick around, that would be appreciated. The deputy and I are going to investigate. We’ll also be taking the body with us, so the coroner can autopsy. If you’re just standing around rubbernecking, do us all a favor and get lost.”

The crowd mumbled to itself before thinning out somewhat. “Don’t worry,” Katelyn said, giving the remaining group a smile, “if there’s someone still in there, we’ll take care of it.”

Dan, meanwhile, had pulled open the door of the dining car, holding it open for Aaron and Katelyn to step through. It was muggy in the car, despite the fans that twirled on the ceiling. Along the sides of the room, abandoned plates of breakfast formed an aisle down the car, glasses knocked onto the plush red carpet glittering and shattered. They had probably gotten stepped on in the passenger’s haste to get out of the car, Aaron figured. Midway down the car, a tall man lay flat on his back, the lower half of his face blown away into a dark red blur, one hand pressed lifelessly over a spreading crimson puddle in his shirt.

Aaron whistled. “Yeah, definitely dead. But I’ll let my brother call it officially. I’m not gonna mess with the body too much, I just…” Leaving Katelyn and Dan to their own devices, Aaron moved over to the man, sticking his fingers into the pockets of his suit jacket and pants. He had papers on him, as well as a small tintype photograph, the dark hair and wide eyes matching perfectly. So that was what he would look like with a mouth.

“Romero Malcolm,” Aaron read off the papers, before folding them up and tucking them back in the pocket. Aside from that, the man had been carrying a bit of money, a pocket watch, two pistols, a butcher knife, and a few letters in a foreign language. Was that Polish? The man had been well-armed and well-dressed, but he seemed to have been taken totally off-guard by his assailant. He hadn’t even managed to take his pistols from their holsters.

It was suspicious. This didn’t seem like the average death. Was it a hit? Aaron shoved the rest of the man’s possessions back into his pockets, standing. “Katelyn, find anything?”

“One of the bullets, it’s over here.” She stood up, holding it out in her palm before sticking it into her pocket. “I think if there’s nothing else in here, maybe we should do a full search of the train, just to make sure the killer isn’t still here.”

Dan finished noting something on her pad, tucking it into the back pocket of her slacks. “Yeah, I can help with that. We should split up, it’ll go faster.”

Together, the three of them combed the train, but to no avail. There was no sign of anyone left onboard. “God dammit.” Aaron muttered. “We may as well start talking to the witnesses. Try and get down a decent story. Then get this body to my brother as soon as possible, so it doesn’t start rotting in here.”

Katelyn put her hand gently on Aaron’s shoulder, and without dwelling on it, he felt some of the tension leave him. “I know this seems strange, but we’ll figure it out. We’ve been in strange situations before. I believe in us.”

Hearing her say it made Aaron want to believe it too. He wasn’t a real law-man. Aaron hadn’t really asked for any of this, but his brother had given him this life. He wasn’t about to fuck it up.

***

If one could read through the reporters Dan Wilds’ notepad, this is what they would find out about that morning on the train:

The victim, Romero, had been alone in the dining car for most of the trip. He didn’t seem to have anyone accompanying him. He had gotten up to ask a waiter a question, it seemed, when a tall man with dark hair, wearing a nondescript black shirt and slacks, had entered the car from the one behind it.

The two men had spoken, but not in English. It sounded like French, a group of young women agreed. For a moment, everyone in the car felt nauseous. When the nausea passed, it appeared that it was too late for anything to be done. The assailant had already drawn his gun and fired, and the victim was toppling backwards to the floor. The shock was immediate. By the time anyone had thought to help, it was to aid the man on the floor, not to restrain the assailant.

Once they realized it was too late for Romero, the stranger was gone. The train was still moving.

***

Andrew and Neil had almost finished their breakfast when there was a sudden knock at the door. “Andrew! Hey, I have a body! Are you awake in there?” The sound of Andrew’s brother’s voice echoed down the hall.

Andrew froze, the last bite of his toast on the way to his mouth. “Motherfucker.” He hissed, throwing it down on the plate. He had been hoping he could keep Neil’s presence at his house a secret, but no, he couldn’t have that. Neil was probably hoping he could stay undercover as well. Aaron couldn’t know that Neil was there.

“Who’s that?” Neil suddenly looked tense, as though he was about to start running right then and there, his skin too tight for his body.

“It’s my twin brother. He’s the sheriff.” Andrew sighed heavily. “You should hide. I think I know a good place. If you go down to the autopsy room and get on a table and cover yourself up, you could pretend to be a corpse. And that way you can watch me work. If you’re interested.”

Neil stiffened, appearing to weigh his options. “What makes you so sure he won’t notice me?”

“If it makes you so worried, you can hide upstairs. But then you won’t be able to listen in.” Andrew shrugged. “It’s up to you. I just assumed you wouldn’t want the law on your ass.”

“I would have really appreciated knowing your brother was a lawman.” Neil grit his teeth, slowly standing. “How the fuck do I know this isn’t a trick? That you just lured me in here and waited for him to show up so you could arrest me and claim the reward?”

How could Andrew give Neil a reason to believe him? “If you go down to the morgue, your gun is there. It’s still loaded. You can hold onto it if it makes you feel better. If I make one wrong move in your direction, you can go ahead and shoot me. Is that enough for you?”

Neil looked surprised for a moment, but understanding flickered in his eyes. “That’s enough.” He confirmed, turning his back on Andrew and walking back into the hallway. Now Andrew just needed to stall his brother at the door to give Neil enough time to hide himself properly. He took his time walking down the hallway, opening the front door to find an irate-looking Aaron, a large burlap-wrapped lump tied to the back of his draft horse.

Aaron crossed his arms. “Took you long enough to get down here. I’ve got a body, guy got shot on on the train into Allantown. It seems really suspicious, but I’ll let you take a closer look at him.”

Andrew stepped down off the porch, eying the body. “He looks pretty heavy. Might need help getting him inside. No good morning? Don’t want to know how your dear brother is doing?”

Making a small sound under his breath, Aaron walked around the horse to take the man’s legs. “I know how you’re doing. Hanging out up here with him. I don’t envy you. If I had to have the thing attached to me at the hip all the time, I’d lose my mind.”

“Really. It’s not so bad.” Andrew sent a cursory glance at his shadow before gripping the man around where he assumed was the shoulders and tugging him down off the horse. He was heavy alright, but with Aaron helping it wasn’t terribly difficult to maneuver him into the house and down the stairs into the morgue. In one corner, half hidden behind a stack of boxes, a burlap body bag was pulled up mostly over a form Andrew recognized as Neil. He was either breathing very lightly, or holding his breath entirely. If Andrew hadn’t known he was there, he would have assumed Neil was just another corpse.

Together, they lowered the body onto the autopsy table, unwrapping it. “Here’s my report.” Aaron pulled a sheaf of paper out of his pocket, unfolding it. “I don’t know, something about all of this just seems off to me. Especially the fact that the guy who did it just disappeared basically into thin air.”

Andrew took the report, setting it to the side with his tools. “I’ll read it when I can. Is there anything I should know now?”

“The killer wasn’t a criminal we have on record. It wasn’t the Striker either. I’ve had to look at that motherfucker’s face every day about a million times, my office is covered in wanted posters, but none of the descriptions sounded like him. From what I heard, it was a tall man in plainclothes who spoke French. And he was alone.” Aaron looked down at the dead man. “I would take a closer look at what’s in his pockets. Some weird shit in there for sure.”

Andrew had been looking at the Striker’s face all day so far, and he certainly wasn’t complaining, but he wasn’t going to say that. “I definitely will. By the way, where’s Katelyn?”

“What do you mean?” Aaron tried to answer casually, but Andrew could pick out the warm spots on his brother’s cheeks.

“Oh, I just thought you would know. How are things with her, anyway?” Andrew grinned, knowing exactly what kind of hornet’s nest he was poking.

“They’re just fine, Andrew.” Aaron replied, pointedly, but his face was still a little red. “I don’t even know why you’re bothering asking me, it’s like you wanted to annoy me. For the millionth time, Katelyn is just-”

“Just a woman you talk about all the time?”

“A competent, brave companion. That’s the end of that, I’m not talking about this anymore, not with you.” Aaron muttered. “Are you going to cut this guy up already or what?”

Andrew leaned over the man. “Oh, sure, I’ll take a look. And maybe we can talk more about Katelyn while I work.”

Taking a deep breath, Aaron shook his head. “I’m not doing this. You’re so immature.”

“I know you are but what am I?”

“An asshole. I’m going back into town, just send me your report when you’re done.” Aaron huffed, storming back up the stairs. “Goodbye, Andrew. I’m glad the only people down here are dead so they don’t have to listen to you say stupid shit.”

Andrew tried to hold in his laughter until after his brother was gone. He knew he was right. Aaron had been head over heels for Katelyn the day she came into town. It was just too funny to watch Aaron stumble all over himself attempting to hide it. “Hey,” Andrew called, waving a hand at the corner, “he’s gone. You’re welcome. You can come out of there now.”

Neil pushed the burlap sack onto the floor, sitting up and clutching the revolver to his chest like a security blanket. “You better be telling the truth.” He grunted, standing, his fingers playing with the hammer of the gun. He would have looked more threatening if a few of his auburn curls weren’t sticking up like antennae from the back of his head. Neil with bedhead, Andrew decided, was adorable.

“I am. I won’t push it. I’ll just prove it.” Andrew turned back to the body, working on stripping it of clothing. “Oh yeah, super dead. Blah blah, county coroner, I declare you legally deceased, etcetera… now it’s official. Neil, are you still interested in watching?”

Slowly, Neil lowered the gun, approaching the autopsy table. “Are you sure this time? That he’s dead? As I recall, you’ve been wrong before.” He said, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Andrew began to dig through the pockets of the dead man’s coat, dumping his findings out in a nearby tray, considering Neil as he did so. The man’s face was hard and lean, but although his eyes were guarded and his mouth tight, there was softness there too. His eyelashes were long, his nose turned up ever so slightly, his scarred jaw sharp but delicate. In short, Andrew had to admit that he was attractive.

Living a guarded life for so long had been both relieving and lonely. Now that Kevin’s presence allowed Andrew to look like a man for the most part, it was difficult to grapple with the idea that other men of similar persuasions might maybe find Andrew genuinely handsome. Even worse was the idea that he would let someone too close and be found out. At the same time, keeping to himself meant that Andrew was safe. It took months after his escape for it to sink in; no one was touching him anymore, his body was finally his own again. He was free, from all of it. Relieved but alone.

Neil was different because Andrew knew, for the first time since he and Aaron had talked about it as teenagers, that he was looking at another man who experienced manhood the same way as he did. Coming into it as a realization, the knowledge dropping onto him despite the nature of his body. He and Neil shared this, that Andrew was sure of. Was it so wrong to think of Neil as attractive? What was the worst that could happen?

“I’ve been wrong exactly once.” Andrew replied, scribbling down some notes on his pad. The papers in the man’s coat pocket identified him as Romero Malcolm. Andrew could investigate the other items later. For now he took note of the external damages, the ruined face, of the various small scars dotting his torso, of his missing pinky finger. The details were key. “But this time I’m sure. I mean look at the guy, half his face is just… not there.”

“You have a point,” Neil nodded, looking towards the tray of items with a strange expression on his face. Did he want a look? Andrew wondered, pulling on his gloves. Maybe they could go through it all together. 

This time, Andrew managed to perform the y-incision with no interruption. It was clear where hemorrhaging had taken place, blooms of burst blood vessels filling the man’s abdominal cavity. He had probably not been alive for long after the bullets entered him. The wounds to the face and head were most likely what did him in, but it was still important to document the details. Carefully, Andrew severed the connective tissue around the man’s liver, weighing it on a small scale and jotting down the result. It wasn’t a particularly healthy liver, that was for sure, but it was normal. As were the kidneys, stomach, lungs and heart.

Neil watched him work with a curious look in his eyes, following every one of Andrew’s precise movements. “You’re so careful.” He said, almost softly. “It’s almost like you’re trying not to hurt him anymore.”

Andrew snorted, pausing with the man’s heart in his hand. “Maybe so. I know he can’t feel it, but he was still a person. It’s not my job to be cruel. It’s my job to record what happened, to see with my own eyes how he died. I’m just judging.”

“It’s… never mind.” Neil turned to the jumble of objects filling the metal tray. “Ignore me. Can I look at these? There’s something weird about them.”

“Just a minute,” Andrew replied, setting down the heart on the scale, replacing the other organs and quickly stitching up the abdomen with thick thread and a hooked needle. Quickly, he jotted down on his notepad that the cause of death was homicide and that the manner of death was loss of mental function coupled with internal bleeding. “Okay. What did you want to see?”

Quietly, Neil picked up the meat cleaver, then the letters, his face tightening but his eyes widening. “Oh, shit. I think I know this guy.” He muttered, grabbing for the man’s identifying papers. “Romero Malcolm. No, yeah, I know him. Knew him. These letters are…” Neil dropped them quickly, as though they were burning his skin. “Can I see the report?”

Was this man another criminal out on the rails, like Neil? Or was this something different? Andrew acquiesced, handing his brother’s report over. Neil skimmed it, shaking his head. “Yeah. I had a feeling.”

“Are you going to tell me what your feeling is?” Andrew crossed his arms. “Because if you’re not, then the odds of you staying here are plummeting by the second. If you’re in some kind of trouble that I can’t plan for, I don’t know how comfortable I am letting you camp out in my house.”

Neil fell silent again, moving one hand slowly between the various objects on the tray. “I don’t have all the clues.” He started, falteringly, as though his jaw might fall off if he opened it any farther. “I could be wrong. But this man. He was close with my father. These letters are in Polish, and I think they’re addressed to my father too. I haven’t had to read Polish since I was ten, so it’s hard to make out, but I’m mostly sure. Also, in the report, it… seems like the guy who shot him was the same man who shot me.” 

There was an empty space left at the end of Neil’s testimony, a place where blanks could be filled in. So Andrew did the filling. “So you think there’s someone intentionally coming after people associated with your family. Even if you don’t consider them your family anymore, you’re still tied up in it. And they probably thought they finished that part of the job when they shot you, but they didn’t, you’re still here. So who? Why?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t.” Neil let out a shaky breath, grabbing the autopsy table to steady himself. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you. You could be part of this for all I know. I haven’t been part of my father’s shit in years. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Does he have any old enemies? Other mob families?” Andrew shrugged. “If you don’t know, it’s understandable, seeing as you’ve been gone for so long.”

Neil bit his lip, sinking into thought. “When I really young sometimes he would have me around to watch while he worked out deals with other families. I remember a few. The Moreau family, for one. And the Knox family. Plus a handful of others. But the Moreau’s were rivals. They were in debt pretty bad for a while, and I think they blamed us. Him. Not us, I wasn’t…”

“That’s a good start at least. Now if I have to, I can start asking my own questions.” That was a lot for Neil to have revealed. Andrew wouldn’t have blamed him if he had told Andrew nothing at all. Now Neil looked tense, backed into a corner like an animal about to bite. “But that’s all I need from you, for now. You can stay.”

Neil laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry, I just admitted the mob might be after me and you’re okay with that? You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like a liar?” Andrew snorted. “Really. Now I know what I’m in for. I can prepare myself. I see no problem letting you stay here.” He picked the man’s heart up off the scale, passing it between both hands. “Now it’s my turn to show you something. Come on.”

Neil didn’t protest, following Andrew back up the stairs, out the back of the house, into the wide open fields filling the top of the plateau. Andrew didn’t stop at the barn, carrying the heart past it, pushing through clumps of wildflowers, walking until the tall grass and the breeze were the only things hemming him in.

If Andrew’s hunch was right, he and Neil were the same on multiple levels, this being one of them. How could a man get shot and killed only to wake up completely whole? He had to have a helping hand. Introducing him to Kevin, despite Kevin’s protests, only seemed like a logical next course of action. Besides, Neil had revealed his own vulnerabilities. Now it was Andrew’s turn.

“Come on, Kev.” Andrew stopped, calling out to the prairie and holding the heart extended before him. “I know you’re hungry. Don’t be shy.”

Neil, to his credit, was remarkably calm as Andrew’s shadow separated from his body, snaking out sharply to dart beneath the grass, a blur under the surface. There was a beat of stillness, even the breeze falling dead before the grass rippled, a black and orange shape tearing itself free. In this form, Kevin was as tall as Andrew at the shoulder, and twice as long. For the most part, he resembled a fox, except for where his back paws ended in the hooked talons of a bird and the places where black feathered wings burst from his back.

He couldn’t hold this appearance for long, but he needed it to eat. Andrew grinned, throwing the man’s heart high into the air, and spreading his wings Kevin leapt too, pearl white teeth flashing in the sunlight as he snapped it down.

As soon as it appeared, the creature blinked out of existence, wings giving a single hard flap before simply disappearing out of midair. Kevin re-appeared several feet away in the field, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking perfectly human. “Andrew, I told you,” he huffed, looking exceedingly annoyed, “that this was the worst idea. The worst. It didn’t even take you 24 hours to fuck up.”

“And? It’s already done.” Andrew looked to Neil, to gauge his reaction, only to find himself astonished. Whereas before Neil had been alone, a woman now stood before him, long, honey-blond hair falling over her shoulders, her face radiant but hard, arms spread as if to shield Neil.

“What the fuck,” she said, looking at Kevin, disgust wrinkling her nose, “was that? You just ate that! And you didn’t even cook it!”

“Allison, come on,” Neil muttered, looking vaguely embarrassed, “this is…”

“Too much?” Allison scoffed. “No way. One of you start talking. Right fucking now. Or I swear to god I will wreck your shit.”


	2. How Sad, How Lovely

_“But I never sleep, gotta bury me six feet deep / Where the sun don't shine / Thinkin' that they've won / It's only just begun / When I go into that ground / Oh, they gotta bury me, bury me face down” - Bury Me Face Down, grandson_

_“The last grain of sand has just fallen through the hourglass of your life.” - Off (video game)_

***

The nature of Neil’s bargain was this.

It had not been his bargain to make.

Neil and his mother had been only surviving at first. Every once in a while they would hit a bank. Neil had only been ten years old when they first made their escape, so while he was still young his mother would disguise him in boy’s clothes and send him in first, as a distraction. Little did she know how much he would come to love his disguise. It became his truth. But robbing the occasional small-town bank wasn’t enough to keep them living comfortably. They were drifting, subsisting, moving across the land like dandelion seeds on the wind.

Neil grew up like that, years slipping through his fingers. Sometimes, he felt that growing older was the worst thing that ever happened to him. He began to bind his chest at 14, cutting his own hair unevenly with a knife whenever it grew too long for comfort. Mary Hatford unwittingly encouraged him. It would make him harder to recognize, she said, taking the knife and helping him shear away the longer hairs on the back of Neil’s head, where he couldn’t reach.

Neil was sixteen when his bargain was made for him. The two of them had been in California, on the coast, when a branch of the Wesninski family had recognized Mary and sounded the alarm. Men came for them in the dead of night, practically knocking down the door of the little house on the shore they had been renting out. Together, Neil and his mother fought them off, but there was a price to pay. Neil had been shot before, but never like this; he had been twisted around the doorway of his bedroom trying to aim at a man down the hall when the bullets entered, two in his shoulder, one in his gut, one in his thigh.

For a minute or two, adrenaline overwhelmed the pain, but the cold that followed was awful in a new way. Neil recalled feeling soaked through, afloat in a sea of his own blood. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother held him, but she did then, picking her son off the floor, cradling his steadily weakening body to her chest as she stumbled from the house and down the beach, towards where the black waves crashed on the sand.

“Am I okay?” Neil could barely remember asking, the vision of his mother’s stone-cold face like a mirage above him.

“You’re fine.” The woman replied, her voice as tight as the last string of a violin. “Don’t be scared.”

Everything had seemed like a dream, hazy and far away, the monochrome blue of the shore and the warmth of his mother’s arms drifting downstream to a place where Neil could barely grasp it. Then the darkness was no more. Like the beam of a lighthouse sweeping over storm-clouds, the beach was suddenly illuminated, the figure of a woman cloaked entirely in amber light appearing on the sand. 

“He’ll die,” the woman said, moving closer. Neil forced his eyes open to try and get a better look, shakily raising his head. He couldn’t be dying, right? “He might hold on for ten minutes more, Mary Hatford. But he’s already lost too much blood, and there’s a bullet in his liver. He won’t make it to dawn.”

“Who are you?” Mary drew her gun with her free hand, cocking it and aiming at the woman. “Where did you come from? He’s going to be fine, you don’t know that.”

The woman sighed, small and sad. “Yeah, but I do know. I watched the whole thing. You can call me Allison. I’m not from around here. I have a deal for you, if you want to take it.”

Neil tried to speak, but nothing would come. Something trickled down his chin. Maybe this was serious after all.

“What kind of deal?” Mary asked, not lowering her weapon. “Explain yourself.”

“I can bring your son back. Not only that, I can bring him back again and again and again, no matter how many times he gets knocked down.” Allison held up her hands, showing her empty palms. “I mean you no harm. I will do this in exchange for two things; Neil’s body, as an anchor to your world. And, Mary, half of your remaining life. I need those years to bring back the years Neil could lose. Without that it won’t work.”

Mary laughed, slowly putting her gun down. “I must be dreaming. This is a joke. My child is dying and you showed up to mock me while it happens. What a sick world we live in. You know what, fine. Prove me wrong. Take my life, give me his back. Do it.”

Allison approached, pressing her palm into Mary’s forehead. Neil’s mother slumped, almost dropping Neil into the sand.

The next thing Neil could remember was opening his eyes to the light of the rising sun on the water. He gasped, shivering, and the arms around him relaxed. “Hey, don’t strain yourself,” Allison said gently, “you didn’t die, but you’ve been out for an hour or two. I think you should be healed now. Can you talk?”

With painful slowness, Neil wiggled out of Allison’s embrace, leaning on his hands in the still cool sand, blinking in the glow of the dawn. He was cold, but he was conscious. The pain was gone. “How the fuck did that happen?” He muttered, his voice dry and cracking. His blood still dappled the sand, but his body was whole. It was impossible, but here he was, experiencing it.

“I’m a special sort of woman.” Allison snorted. “Your name is Neil, right? Is that what you want to be called?”

“Yes.” Neil looked back at her. In the daylight, she was no longer glowing. She seemed to be about his age, with lightly tan skin and flowing hair. “And you’re Allison? And you’re not human?”

“I’m Allison. And I’m not human.” She held out her hand to Neil. “I know my deal wasn’t with you, but it’s your body I’m attached to. I’ll do my best to take care of it. It’s nice to meet you, Neil. Are you okay with this?”

Carefully, Neil took her hand, shaking it. “This is absolutely insane, but I’m more than okay with it. You brought me back. I’m still here. If you hadn’t done that, I…” He didn’t want to think about it.

Allison stood up, bringing Neil to his feet. “Your mom is waiting for you, come on. Time to move.” With that, she burst into a cloud of particles, diving down into the center of Neil’s shadow where it fell on the sand.

Neil didn’t die that time. Allison had held him on the edge, pulling his body back together cell by cell. 

The first time Neil died, he was seventeen. It was also his first time hitting a train, a steam engine headed from San Francisco to Tucson. His mother had pushed through the length of the train, up to the coal car, leaving Neil in a passenger car to stand guard. Perhaps his nerves had been strung too high. He had been just anxious enough for the buzzing in his ears and chest distract him from the task at hand. Armed guards burst through into the car, and by the time he was drawn back into reality, it was too late for Neil. Black light burst behind his eyes as a volley of bullets sunk into his chest.

And then he was dead. Neil didn’t remember much about being dead, only a sensation of darkness and floating. Perhaps it was the fact that because he came back, he couldn’t hold onto any experience he’d had in death. Regardless, when Neil came to, he was laying on his back on the floor of the train. His chest ached, but he was alive. He could hear Allison’s voice; not out loud, but from a place deep within himself, sounding strained but clear. “You were dead for a minute and twenty seconds,” she said, her words ringing through him like an alarm bell, “don’t try to get up yet. They’re coming over to make sure they got you. We can surprise them.”

Neil tried to hold still, holding his breath, much as he wanted to jump up, get away, anything to get his guard back up. His eyes were closed and he didn’t dare open them, but he could hear the approaching footsteps, feel the nudged tip of a boot into his side. “We got him good,” said one of the guards, whistling softly, “he’s like a goddamn swiss cheese. I think that’s the end of that.”

“Wait,” said the other, bending down so close to Neil that he could feel the warmth of his body, “I gotta check if he’s breathing.”

“Come on, how the fuck would he be breathing?”

Neil felt the man’s hand brushing under his nose. “Now would be a good time.” Allison helpfully chimed in, but Neil was already in motion. Forcing himself up, he slammed into the guard as hard as he could, headbutting him directly in the nose. He was dizzy, but that didn’t matter. There was more adrenaline than blood in his veins now, and something else, an ecstasy in moving that felt like liquid gold singing beneath his skin.

Snatching up the gun from the man whose nose he’d just broken, he wheeled on the other guard. The man was as tall and broad as they came, but his mouth flapped open like a surprised fish just tossed onto the floor of a boat. Neil felt a tightness in his face as he returned fire. Was he smiling? His heart was beating so loud within its prison of ribs. Even with the bullets sunk into him, there was an opiate in simply being alive.

The rest of the guards were no match for him. Neil plowed through the train, bleeding and victorious, playing out every skirmish like it might be his last. But they wouldn’t be, because _he couldn’t be killed_.

The first time Neil saw his face on a wanted poster, he was nineteen, and he had laughed out loud at the words “alive or dead” for what felt like an eternity, because there was no taking him dead. He was the Striker now, and whatever else, those rich bastards had better be scared of him, because he wasn’t subsisting anymore, he was thriving.

Neil had been dead on 45 separate occasions. He had been cut down from a hangman’s noose. He had been cut, shot, broken, run over by a car, and in one case, poisoned. He was, to some extent, no longer afraid of ordinary people.

But that man on the train. The one who had thrown Neil’s mother, shot Neil in the gut. There was something more about him. And now this: Andrew was the same as Neil, but by some stroke of fate he was, at least for the time being, not trying to kill Neil. He could be thankful for that, at least.

Neil kept coming back to that as he told Andrew the story of his bargain out there in the field. How grateful he was that Andrew was nodding along with him, keeping pace with the story, understanding. “Anyway,” he finished, trying not to look Andrew in the eyes, “you don’t have to tell me how you met yours. Allison,” he shot a look at the demon, where she stood, crossing her arms petulantly, “don’t make them.”

Allison huffed, looking Andrew’s demon - Kevin, Neil recalled, - up and down. “I still think you should’ve waited until they cracked.” She muttered.

“Well, what else do you need to know?” Kevin replied, after exchanging a brief look with Andrew. “We’re the same as you. A demon and a man bound together by a deal. We’re just trying to live our own lives. I don’t think we pose you any danger, and I’d really like to believe that neither of you are a threat to us.”

“Agreed,” Andrew sighed, looking both tired and relieved. “Agreed.”

***

Andrew wasn’t ready to tell another soul about what his life before Kevin had been like, about the path that lead him to his bargain. What Aaron knew, he knew out of necessity. It was a burden lifted when Neil had simply started speaking, softly at first, faltering, then growing bolder. Allison had tried to stop him, but Neil had barrelled onwards.

It was the strangest thing: Andrew could picture Neil in action so clearly, rising again and from the dead, victorious and electric, a live wire. Everything was so clear now. And despite the clarity of the image, the harsh relief Neil was thrown into, Andrew could feel the inexplicable attraction he had begun to harbor for the man settle ever deeper into his very bones.

It frightened him as much as it excited him.

***

Not far away, another man was shouldering his own burden alone.

He had jumped off the train before it pulled into Allantown. He didn’t like to stick around for long after a hit. And perhaps it wasn’t entirely true to say he was alone. Just as wooden dolls might settle into each other, the man was both within and outside of himself.

Why bother dodging the elephant in the room? To a bystander, he may have looked like one man, trekking along over the thin grass some distance away from the train tracks. He wore dark, commonplace clothes. He was silent as he went, at least on the outside. But the being possessing him was being quite loud at that moment, as it piloted his body along, dragging his limbs and keeping his balance in the same way that one rides a bike.

“Something is wrong,” the being muttered, and from the corner of his mind he had been shoved down into, the man said nothing.

“Didn’t you hear me? We must have messed up. I could feel the Weskinski heir die. And now I can feel him out there, heart beating again. We killed him. How could that be?”

After some time, the man forced himself to speak. “He’s notorious for being hard to kill. Haven’t you seen all the wanted posters? People claim to kill the Striker all the time.” He didn’t even particularly care, but maybe if he played along for at least a little while the entity would be satisfied and leave him alone for a minute or two.

“He must be like us.” The being plowed on. “I should’ve guessed that from the beginning. We have to finish the job. We have to keep after him.”

“Do we?” The man answered, but with every word he tried to voice he felt himself becoming smaller, crushed down as if by a stampede.

“Of course. Don’t be ridiculous. We got the father and the mother. We can’t leave any loose ends. And maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for on the way.” The being seemed very satisfied with himself, tugging the man’s arms and legs into faster motion.

The man kept silent. He knew better than to push back by now. He watched the dry prairie through eyes that no longer seemed like his own and tried to remember the last time he was in control of himself.

***

As Andrew reached the barn, Kevin evaporated, disappearing back into Andrew’s shadow. Neil raised an eyebrow, looking to Allison. “Did you tell him to do that?”

Allison shook her head, yawning. “I assume he’s just tired of keeping that form and not doing anything. I’m getting kinda tired of it too, you know how it is.” With a soft puff she burst back into bits of light. Andrew watched her go with a strange feeling in his gut. Now it was just himself and Neil. Left by themselves again.

“You can go back inside if you want,” Andrew stepped into the shade of the barn, the sweet smell of hay filling his lungs. “I just have to feed the horses. And the goat.” Andrew’s eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but somewhere in the loft the soft meow of a cat echoed down. “And all these cats are here too, but they feed themselves.”

Neil shrugged, joining him in the barn. “I can try and help if you want.” He said, tentatively. Andrew was glad Neil probably couldn’t see his face. After that revelation, he wasn’t sure how to talk to Neil. The added discomfort that both their demons were probably listening in didn’t help much either. Now that he knew so many intimate details about Neil’s past, how was he supposed to just make small talk again?

“That’s fine by me.” Andrew’s eyes finally adjusted to the dark, finding his two stallions in the rear of the barn, their attention drawn away from their water trough by the sounds of speech. The goat, too, was drawn, bleating softly and looking up from the massive pile of sweet hay in one corner. Feeling Neil’s eyes on his back, Andrew went to greet his horses.

They were massive animals, compared to him. Andrew had stopped feeling intimidated a long time ago, though. He and these animals were comfortable with each other now. The smaller stallion, a mustang, bent down to let Andrew gently scratch the side of his neck. The larger horse, though, pricked his ears curiously, heading right for Neil and nudging him with his nose.

“Does he like me?” Neil laughed, gently patting the horse, “Do they have names?”

Andrew had never seen either of his horses take to a stranger so quickly, aside from perhaps Renee. “I think that definitely means he likes you, yeah.” Andrew nodded, taking a step back. “And yeah, they’ve got names. The one bothering you is Saint Lawrence Yates Esquire, and the mustang is Prince Lancaster Thomas Livingston. But I just call them Saint and Prince for short.”

“Fancy,” Neil said, grinning as Saint nudged him again.

“He’s looking for food,” Andrew snorted, heading for a large barrel of soaked grain to one side of the barn. The goat, finally pulling herself away from the hay, bleated loudly, trotting along at Andrew’s heels as he crossed over to the feed. “There’s enough for you too, greedy,” Andrew muttered, giving the goat a pat on the head.

“Wait a second,” Neil paused, as Andrew was midway through filling a feed trough, “What are we going to do about the body? Do you just leave it downstairs? What happens to it?”

“We’ll take care of that soon enough. Usually Renee and I bury them, over in the cemetery by the church. That’s where she found you, remember.” Andrew slid Neil a glance over his shoulder. “I like how now that I know all your fun little secrets you’ve basically made yourself my assistant. ‘We.’ Yeah, what makes you so sure I’ll let you help?”

Neil grinned, and for a moment Andrew’s heart squeezed. “Pft. You’re a fool if you think you’ve learned all my secrets, Andrew.”

***

That afternoon, once all the appropriate paperwork had been filled out and the death certificate filed, Neil helped Andrew carry Romero’s body into a small cart hitched up to Saint. The sun was sweltering now, and the sweat that coursed down the back of Neil’s neck exacerbated his uneasiness. He had a sinking feeling he should not have told Andrew all that he had that morning. And while he had the sense that yes, he was safe here for the time being, he would not be for much longer. There were too many factors to worry about, and Neil only had so little brain power left.

Andrew had let Neil borrow some of his clothes, a new shirt, hat, and chest binder. The last item solidified Neil’s suspicions that he and Andrew were, once again, more alike than should be possible. But he didn’t say anything as he took it, and he didn’t say anything after it was on. If Andrew wanted to talk about it, he could bring it up himself.

“It would only be fair if he gave up some of his own secrets,” Allison sighed from the back of Neil’s mind, as Andrew finished wrapping the body tightly in the cart, “you let go of so much. He should at least give a little.”

Neil didn’t bother responding. He couldn’t make Andrew say anything, so there was no use trying to lean on him. “Alright, we’re ready,” Andrew stepped back from the cart, taking Saint’s reins in one hand, “For fuck’s sake, keep that hat down. You have a very recognizable face, the last thing we need is someone in town recognizing you and telling my brother you’re here.”

“I’ve been at this a while, I know what I’m doing,” Neil huffed, tugging his hat down. Normally he would ask Allison to change his hair or eye color, or make his scars less prominent, but somehow, in this moment, doing that felt wrong. He could take care of himself, with or without a disguise.

Andrew started down the dirt road, nodding. “I’m sure you do. I have no doubt about it.” He sighed.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Neil hurried to walk beside him. “So how long am I allowed to stay here?”

Andrew looked out thoughtfully, his gaze travelling over the valley below. “If you asked me that this morning, the answer would’ve been maybe a day, let’s be honest. But I think things are different now. You’re clearly running from people. I think we have certain things in common. As long as you need. Just don’t cause trouble.”

Neil almost laughed out loud. “But I’m so good at causing trouble, how can I stop now?”

“Just give it your best effort,” Andrew shook his head, looking amused. “To think you were dead yesterday. To think you’ve been dead like forty goddamn times and it hasn’t knocked the attitude out of you. Stranger things have yet to happen.”

Neil took a moment as they descended into the valley to take in the wildflowers, the insects buzzing in the heat, the pale blue vault of the sky above. “Yeah, what can I say, my bad attitude is terminal. But thank you. For letting me stay. It’s beautiful here. How did you end up in a place this nice?”

“I asked,” Andrew shrugged, “When Kevin and I… made our deal, I was given the options to build a life entirely of my choosing. Right down to the animals in the barn. I did it for my brother too. I hadn’t seen him in years when I made that choice, but I don’t think he’s complained much. I got to pick my house, my job, my clothes, what kind of town I wanted to live in, the books in my study. Everything. Clean slate.”

Neil whistled. “Damn. Allison can’t do that, I don’t think. But I guess being invincible sort of… evens things out. Why did you ask for your brother to be included if you hadn’t seen him in so long?”

“He was one of the only people I could remember fondly. And I felt like I owed him a bit. I was feeling generous, what with my unbelievable change in fortune.” Andrew looked down into the town, his eyes finding the sheriff’s office. “I was worried about him, I guess. Growing up was hard. I can’t imagine how much harder it would’ve been if we didn’t have each other.”

“I’m an only child. I think.” Neil frowned. “If I have siblings out there I guess I’ll never know. Don’t know what my father’s been up to in the past decade or so. God, that’s awful to think about.”

“What, having siblings? Or your father-”

Neil made a retching sound, shaking his head. “Don’t want to think about it.” As the road levelled out, Millport’s main street came into view. Homes, a few saloons, the bank, the sheriff’s office, a large general store. Andrew kept an even pace, his face blank as he walked along the dirt road. A few men on the porch of a saloon appeared to catch sight of Andrew, waving to try and get his attention, but Andrew kept right on past them. Was he ignoring them for Neil’s sake? It was good not to draw attention. Andrew didn’t seem like the type to keep many friends anyway.

All in all, Millport was a sturdy little town. Neil eyed the bank as they passed it, his mind jumping ahead of him, planning out several ways to rob it blind. But he couldn’t do that now. And he would have to figure out new ways to do this job without his mother there.

They crossed a bridge, over a slow-moving river, the greenish water bringing an earthy smell with it on the breeze. On the other side, the church sat nestled in the slope of the hill, the graveyard sprawling out behind it in a patchwork of sun and shade. On the front steps of the church, Neil recognized Renee, leaning back against the doors and whittling a block of wood.

With a soft puff of air, Allison materialized beside Neil, fixing her hair quickly. “How do I look?” She asked quickly as they rapidly approached.

Neil sighed heavily. Oh. Allison could never resist pretty women. “You look fine.” He said, knowing immediately what to expect from this encounter.

Renee picked herself up off the steps, setting her carving down. “Another body already?” She winced as Andrew led Saint to a stop. “I’ll go get the shovels. Oh, and hello Neil! Good to see you’re okay. Who’s your friend?”

Andrew cut in before either of them could reply. “She’s from the reporter’s office in Allantown, came by to watch me do the autopsy.” Of course. If Renee didn’t yet know about Andrew’s demon, why would Andrew want her to know anything about anybody’s demon? Leaving her with the fewest clues was the best option.

Allison didn’t complain. “Yep, I’m a journalist. You can call me Allison.” She grinned, holding out a hand to Renee. “What about you?”

“Renee Walker.” Renee gave Allison’s hand a firm shake, giving her a mildly amused look.

“It’s a real pleasure. Does it ever seem unfair?”

Renee raised an eyebrow. “Does what?”

“The whole celibate thing?”

Blushing somewhat, Renee laughed. “Oh, you’re thinking priests. I’m a chaplain, we’re allowed to… do things.”

Allison smiled again, moving back. “A blessing for all the rest of us, then.”

Behind them, Neil tried to get Andrew’s attention, giving him a look. Andrew shook his head, shrugging, as if to say “what can we do?”

“I can help dig,” Allison offered as they headed to the graveyard, Neil and Andrew carrying the corpse between them, Renee dragging a few spades and shovels lashed together with a strip of leather. “I’m stronger than I look. You’ve got enough shovels there for all of us, right?”

Neil was more than familiar with Allison’s true strength. If she wanted to lend a hand, even if not for entirely altruistic purposes, he was willing to let her. Renee threw the bundle of tools down on a patch of half-dead grass, a handful of insects scattering from the impact. “I do. You’re welcome to one.”

Heavy labor was often difficult for Neil with his chest held together so tightly. As they started in on the dig, Neil could pick out a familiar pattern of sweat on Andrew’s sides and back, where the material must be sticking hard to his body. Empathy washed briefly over Neil, chased by another moment of longing. Gross, he thought quickly, tightening his hands on the shovel and chasing his daydream away. He could save that kind of thought for when they weren’t burying a guy.

But still. He couldn’t help but watch as the soil flew from where Andrew turned it, muscles in his shoulders and upper arms tensing and working with every twist of the shovel. Neil hadn’t allowed himself to want anything for so long. Now that the potential was there, what could he bring himself to do about it?

***

Dreams came less frequently now to Andrew than they once did. In the earliest days he spent in Millport, it was rare that he could sleep an entire night without the ghost of Yuma Prison shaking him awake. Kevin used to keep a watch on him while he slept. As new and strange as that situation was, it did reassure Andrew. No one could take advantage of him if there was a demon sitting on the foot of his bed.

After dinner, Neil had holed himself up in the parlor again. Who could blame him for wanting to be alone? It had been a wildly eventful day for both of them. Andrew didn’t think he was tired either, but it seemed like the moment his head met the pillow he slipped into a dream of a life that had once been his.

No, still was his. Just held at length.

He was in his old cell, the heat oppressive and cloying, his hands outstretched to grave the familiar rough surface of the stone wall. In the wall, lodged into a crevice, was a single razor blade. His only protection, aside from his fists. And occasionally his teeth.

It was solidly dark, the absence of light in his cell a tangible choking presence. Was this what animals drowning in tar felt like? No matter how many nights he lay awake, it was always the same. He never got used to the darkness. 

The other prisoners had never been his biggest worry. Andrew could handle the ones that seemed dangerous. Was he not dangerous in his own way? They were all here, all trapped. There was a kind of companionship to be found in that.

Some things about the prison took the edge off others. The library, for example. He appreciated that. It was the guards that made his life hell.

Even in his dream Andrew’s mind was reluctant to construct every feeling anew. The awful, paternalistic way some of the guards acted towards him. The things they called him and the things they did to him, saying it was for his own good. Pulling at him.

The grating of metal. The whoosh of air as his cell swung open. Andrew reached for the razor, metal digging into his skin, blood hot in his palm.

And then he was awake and gasping, aware at once that his hand was slick with blood from where his nails dug in. It took him a moment to catch his breath, but before he could, Kevin was there, materialized through the darkness, lighting the candle beside his bed. In the glow of the flame it was easier for Andrew to draw himself back to the present.

Once he could speak, mouth dry, Andrew shook his head emphatically, looking up to where the candlelight threw a warped shadow against the curve of Kevin’s jaw. “I don’t… I don’t know why that happened. Fuck. I haven’t had one of those…”

“For weeks?” Kevin nodded. “Yeah.”

Andrew relaxed slightly, opening his hand to probe at the cuts he inflicted while unconscious. Not as bad as they could be, they just bled a lot. “Remember when you would sit on the edge of my bed? Even though it was hard for you to keep your shape like that.”

Kevin gave Andrew perhaps one of the most genuine smiles he has ever allowed to grace his mouth. “It was. I did it then, and I would still do it.”

“For how long?” Andrew asked, giving Kevin a look.

Kevin sighed, placing a gentle and definitely tangible hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Every night. For as long as it took for them to stop.”

Sometimes, to Andrew, it seemed like Kevin was always getting the short end of the stick. What had Andrew ever done for Kevin? Well, aside from feed him and let him stay anchored to his body. Maybe that was enough for him though.

Andrew let out a soft breath through his teeth. “Every night. Seems like a lot of work. How is our guest? Sorry. Guests.”

Cocking his head as though listening to a sound far away, Kevin shrugged. “Asleep, in their own ways. Neil seems tired. Mentally, he’s in a deep sleep. I don’t think he’s up to anything. At least not yet.”

“But?” Andrew asked, sensing a hesitation.

“But there is something wrong, somewhere.” Kevin shivered, or at least went through the motion. “I can feel at least that. Something is coming.” He swallowed. “I think for me. Or him. Or both.”

Why would someone be after Kevin? It occurred to Andrew that he didn’t know an awful lot about Kevin’s life in the other place, the… world, for lack of a better term, that he came from. His relationships with others of his kind. Before he could press further, Kevin lost his grip, bursting into the particles that held his form and retreating into the comfort of a shadow.

Minutes slipped past. Andrew was reluctant to put out the candle. He waited for moonrise to try sleeping again, the silver glow of the moon soothing his mind. 

***

Neil woke to the sensation of Allison shaking his shoulder. “Neil, I have a bad feeling. Wake up,” she hissed quietly. Neil blinked awake, his vision hazy. Apparently he wasn’t moving fast enough, because Allison shook him again. “Come on, pay attention. Can you feel that?”

“Feel what?” The bubble of Neil’s exhaustion popped, a familiar alert feeling jerking adrenaline into his bloodstream. But he didn’t have to ask. There was something weighing on him, through the bond he shared with Allison. A sort of nebulous slowness, like a cold, heavy set of iron manacles around a phantom limb. It was familiar.

He swallowed, leaning back. “I can’t believe it. That was fast.”

“We’re dealing with one of our own kind.” Allison shrugged. “The standards of normal people don’t apply right now. The man who died yesterday was just a warning shot. He’s coming back for you.”

Neil didn’t have to strain hard to hear the worry in Allison’s voice. “Have you ever done that? Fought another one of you?”

Allison shook her head. “Not seriously. Time is strange in the place where I’m from. There were other fights though. Feuds between us can be deadly. We can destroy each other. Our blood debts are on kind of a cosmic scale, you understand.”

“Would anybody from your home want to hunt you down? Or is this really about me?” Neil quickly recalled his conversation with Andrew yesterday. It is possible his previous identity as the heir to the Polish mob was finally catching up to him. There was no telling what another family might do to get revenge.

Allison gently wrapped one arm around Neil’s shoulders. “Don’t say it like that. It’s not about you, you didn’t do anything to any of those people yourself. Don’t you dare feel guilty about this,” she said, likely sensing his exact feelings, “it’s not your fault. We’ll deal with this like we have everything else.”

“He killed my mother. That really happened. I mean, I knew it would happen, I just didn’t…” At last it was sinking in. He pressed his palms as hard as he could into his eye sockets until stars danced across the blackness, trying as hard as he could to steady the uneven jerking rhythm his breath was starting to fall into. It was no use. He had to let himself feel this now or else his emotions would get twisted up on each other and never come out.

Allison could be hard and fierce. Neil had never known her to hesitate in a fight or hold back when she and Neil were in danger. He was lucky she could be compassionate too. Crying in someone else’s arms is a different animal altogether than crying alone.

When the overwhelming tide of loss had rushed back out to sea, Neil was suddenly aware that the cold weight from earlier was gone too. Wiping his face, he sat up, looking around as though he could see through the walls of the room. “Is he gone? I can’t feel it anymore.”

Allison pressed her lips together. “I don’t get it. I can’t feel it anymore either. I wonder what happened. Is he just waiting it out? Maybe he can’t figure out where we are? Regardless… I think we have a little more time.”

“Should we tell Andrew?” Neil sighed, not wanting to. He liked being here, he liked the illusion of a peaceful life and someone who understood. He didn’t want to give it up yet.

“I don’t think we’ll have to if it happens again.” Allison looked up, towards where she assumed Andrew’s room was. “His demon will be able to feel it too. At least we’re not alone in this.”

***

Aaron had never been a sound sleeper. The best he could normally manage were fits and starts. A three hour uninterrupted sleep cycle was a blessing for him. Pale orange sunlight had barely started creeping into his room above the sheriff's office when he woke with the perfect knowledge that even if he tried, he wasn’t getting back to sleep now. Cursing a bit under his breath, he settled on dressing for the day, pulling on a binder and riding boots, pinning his badge to the front of his shirt, buckling on his holster. He attempted to pull a comb through his curls, but it just made them unbearably fluffy, so he stopped trying.

Downstairs in the office, he was surprised to find Katelyn also wide awake, watching the sun rise on the roofs of buildings across the street, sipping coffee from a pewter cup. “You’re awake early.” Aaron sighed, stopping beside her and looking out the window too, so she wouldn’t know how badly he wanted to look at her and just keep on looking.

“I was having kind of weird dreams,” she took a sip of her coffee, shivering a little, although it was already warm. “I just couldn’t settle.”

“I know how that feels. Do you… want to take a walk?” Aaron asked, instantly fearing the worst. How could she not suspect something? All he wanted was to spend a little time together while they weren’t chasing a thief or a killer. Was that so much to ask? He could let himself have this.

Katelyn turned, a smile warming her face. “Yeah, that would be nice. Along the river?”

“Why not?” She downed the rest of the coffee quickly, setting the cup on her desk. “I’ll wash it out later… come on, let’s go!” She started towards the door, suddenly full of energy. Aaron hurried along behind her, catching the door before it fell completely shut.

Together, they walked in relative quiet to the riverbank. The river flowed along, dark green in some places, a handful of mayflies clumsily floating just above the water. They were running out of time, Aaron thought. Sometimes it felt like he was running out of time, but that was an old fear from a life where he didn’t have much to look forward to at all. He had more than ten hours to process his entire adult life and all his feelings. He just had to slow down and let things happen.

Katelyn scooped up a rock as they walked, tossing it into the river with a gentle plop. Ripples rang out from it, disturbed little by the sluggish current, wider and wider like a bullseye. “This thing is really just a puddle.” Katelyn laughed, shaking her head. “I told you about how my family lived by the ocean, right?”

A thousand times, but Aaron wouldn’t get sick of it. “Maybe, but I could listen to you talk about it again. Go on.”

“Before I left, we used to live in a town by the ocean. It was right on the gulf. Everybody knew each other back then. It was almost like the town was a big family.” She smiled again, remembering. “Every morning we could go down to the tide pools and gather up little crabs to eat later. It always smelled like salt, especially when it was high tide.

“When I was young, nobody cared what I wore or what they called me, just that I was there. There wasn’t anybody else to please.” Katelyn looked at Aaron, a look of gratitude on her face. “It’s crazy being around somebody else after all this time who… understands. I know you do.”

Aaron laughed, nervously. That was one of the first things they had bonded over, after all. It was still difficult for Aaron to talk about, seeing as he’d held himself back from the life he’d really wanted for so long. “I do, yeah. That’s how I feel here. For the first time, I’m finally me. Nobody expects me to be anyone or anything else.”

Katelyn nodded. “After those men from the east coast came around looking for oil… things changed. But I still remember when it was good. And things are good now too. I think people here see me as the woman I always knew I was. And I know you do, too.”

“Of course,” Aaron said, trying to put all his feelings into just two words. “Of course.” They had reached the bend in the valley, the place where the river opened up again onto the plains and the train tracks glinted on the horizon. The grass was waving faintly, coursing in a breeze that stretched from one end of the earth to the other.

Grinning, Katelyn reached up to run a hand through Aaron’s hair. “It’s so puffy today. What did you do to it?”

Aaron blushed slightly, ducking out of her way. “I tried to comb it? Without water though… it kind of just fluffed up.”

“I think it’s cute,” she proclaimed, and Aaron had to steady himself, not wanting to do something completely foolish.

What if he did, though? He wasn’t like a mayfly. This life was going to last. Why not make as much of it as possible? What was he waiting for? Aaron gathered up his thoughts, trying to organize them into something approaching coherence. He needed to do this in one shot, with as little conjecture as possible. He needed everything he felt about her to be clear.

Apparently he took too long. Katelyn stiffened up beside him, holding out a hand. “Hey, hold on a minute friend, why don’t you stop right there? Do you have business in Millport?”

Aaron drew himself quickly out of his thoughts. Standing there in the prairie where he hadn’t been minutes ago was a tall man wearing plain, dark clothing. The warmth of the sun felt eerily muted now. His brain jerked to a conclusion before he could entirely process what he was seeing. This man easily matched the description of the killer on the train from the day before.

The man slowly shrugged. “I suppose I might.” He replied, carefully, as though each word were a chore. “Depends on who’s asking. You’re a lawman, aren’t you?”

Aaron looked quickly down at his badge. A position he didn’t ask for. A responsibility he would have to shoulder now. “Yes, I am. I’m Aaron Minyard, and this is my deputy Katelyn.”

“Well. I think we share some similar interests, you and I. I’m on the trail of a criminal. The Striker, have you heard of him?” Replied the man, now smiling a little, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“How could I not?” Aaron crossed his arms. He was a quick draw. If anything happened, his gun was already at his side. “Are you suggesting he’s here? In this town? Millport’s a quiet place. Nothing happens around here that I don’t know about. We haven’t had a robbery in a good long while.”

“Really? I’m almost positive he’s here. But that’s no matter.” The man grimaced, as if he was tasting something bad. “I think I’m looking for some other people too. You bear a resemblance to someone I think might be harboring an old enemy of mine. I can’t be too sure, I’ve only heard whispers you understand. My enemy and I… it’s a long story. But I believe he has a friend. A man… with your last name?”

Aaron felt a wave of cold go down his spine. Of course this had something to do with Andrew. Andrew and his demon. Was the demon in some kind of otherworldly trouble? That was his fucking brother this man was asking about. The demon didn’t matter. Andrew drew his pistol and cocked it in a split second, staring the man down over the muzzle of the gun. “Get away from here. This is my goddamn town, I don’t take kindly to threatening strangers. Fuck off, and don’t you dare come back, cause we’ll be waiting for you.”

“Fine. Fine! I’ll go.” The man held up his hands, stepping away. “Easy. I don’t mean any harm. I can’t promise I won’t be back though. I’ll see you around, Aaron Minyard. And your brother. And the Striker, of course.”

And then he was gone. The air simply folded on itself, taking the stranger with it. Shaking, Aaron quickly put the safety back on his gun, dropping it into the holster. “Fuck.” He muttered, staring at the place where the man had been. “You saw that too, right?”

“Are you going to tell your brother?” Katelyn asked, placing a hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“I need some time to think about it. About all of that.” But Aaron knew if Andrew was in danger he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from warning him. 

***

This is a different story. But it ties in somewhere, promise.

Once, there was a powerful king in a far away kingdom. Whether he was human or not does not matter right now. The king shared his power carefully with his family. He played a precarious game, always trying to keep his accounts balanced and his relatives under control. This angered some and benefited others.

The king had two sons and a brother. He chose one son to pamper and laud, but shunned his brother and the younger child. So it came that the second son grew up with his uncle, always jealous of his brother.

Then one day, another child came to live with the uncle. How he got there is not important enough to this story to mention. But finally, the younger prince had a brother of his own to torment, to take out the anger he felt over his rejection from his father’s house. The other child grew up simultaneously attached to the prince and yet crushed under his wrath.

Long years passed. The boys became men. One day when they were practicing swordplay, the prince broke his brother’s hand with the flat of his blade. It could not have been an accident. The foster brother was terrified. If the prince could do that, where would he stop? His jealousy might never find a boundary. The brother began to panic, but his fear turned to anger, too.

He waited for his hand to heal. Then he challenged his foster brother to a duel.

The duel was short and brutal. The prince was knocked to the ground, at his brother’s mercy. But in the end, he could not strike the killing blow. In fear, knowing he would be pursued, the brother ran from the kingdom, trying to escape to the furthest place he knew of. Perhaps even another world.

But the prince stayed behind and recovered, vowing to someday chase his brother down. He only need wait for the right opportunity, and he was a skilled hunter. Wherever his brother went, he would surely find him.

***

Neil knew that it was painfully obvious just how on edge he was. Ever since that morning he had been debating whether or not to tell Andrew about the thing pursuing him. He had tagged along with Andrew when he went to feed and groom the horses, and settled down on the hay-strewn floor of the barn, folding his legs to his chest in an effort to control the churning in his stomach. He hadn’t felt the presence again since that morning. There was no need to break the illusion of tranquility he had found here. 

One of the barn cats took interest in Neil, padding quickly over and rolling onto its back, meowing plaintively. Neil sighed shakily, reaching down to pet it. Its fur was very soft, and the way it nosed into his hand was soothing.

“That one’s my favorite,” Andrew said, moving to sit in the hay near Neil, reaching out to smooth the cat’s ears back. “She’s always so affectionate. Not really sure why.” He paused, letting his silence rush up against the buzzing worry Neil knew he was putting out into the air. “Is everything alright?” He asked, letting the question hang for a time before continuing. “I know what it feels like. To have your past weigh on you.”

Neil looked up, hesitantly meeting Andrew’s eyes. He was sincere. “I don’t know if I would say everything is alright. But I’d like to pretend it is.”

Andrew nodded, standing, holding out a hand for Neil to take. “Then come on. I want to show you something.”

Taking Andrew’s hand, Neil soaked in just how reliable it felt, how confidently Andrew supported his weight when he stood. It was a little relieving. “Sure. Surprise me.” Neil managed a smile.

Andrew lead him back through the field to the house, leaving Neil on the porch while he dove back inside quickly, reappearing with a corked bottle in one hand and a spanish guitar in the other. “Ready for a walk?” He asked, holding out the bottle.

Neil took it, trying to peer through the glass. “As I’ll ever be. What’s in here?”

“Dandelion wine. If you don’t want any I understand.” Andrew started walking along the crest of the hill, the noonday sun catching in his hair like a halo. Below, in the valley, Neil could see that they were walking parallel to the river, following it upstream but at a distance.

Twisting the cork free, Neil took a small sip. “No, I’m alright. I know my limits.” It tasted good, somewhat like the earth and… was that almonds? “This is damn good. Did you make it?”

Andrew nodded, proudly. “I did. It’s hard to make a good one, you can’t get any green bits in it at all or it gets bitter as fuck.” At the edge of the plateau, the land began to sink down once again, curving slightly to match the bend of the river below. Here, in the shade created by the slope, ponderosa pines grew like a fence bordering the hillside, creating some semblance of a path for them to walk along. As they drew closer to the river, Neil could smell the damp of it, feel the spray of it against his face and neck as it tumbled down steeper falls, much faster than it flowed in town.

“Sorry, I’m hogging it,” Neil said after several more sips, passing the bottle back to Andrew. “It seems like every time I turn around I discover a new talent of yours. What else can you do?”

Andrew grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Neil rolled his eyes. If only Andrew weren’t so attractive. He’d push him right down the hill. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

The path bent, drawing in close to the riverbank at last, a shelf of swaying grass and a few stands of trees following the water up to a steeper cliffside, where a waterfall rushed down from a hidden place high above. Neil took a few steps into the miniature meadow, brushing his hand against the nodding heads of lupines. In the spray of the river, the grass was healthy and green, and actually looked somewhat soft. He was momentarily distracted from both his annoyance and his anxiety. “This is… uh, beautiful.” He finally managed, crossing the meadow to sit in the shadow of a tree.

“I found it pretty early on once I started exploring.” Andrew dropped down in the grass, cradling the guitar in his lap. “Being here always makes me feel quiet. Deep down, where it matters.”

Neil reached for the bottle again. He was starting to feel fuzzy around the edges, but not in a bad way. Just warm, and somehow light. Content in a way he hadn’t for a long time. 

Andrew began to play then, not looking at Neil, but up, into the wide sky marbled with the occasional wisp of cloud. He didn’t strum, but only plucked gently at the strings. Neil was stirred, arrested by the gentle, somewhat melancholy notes.

So this is what Andrew held inside himself, behind the hardness in his eyes. Not the demon he harbored, but a sweet, sad music.

Still not looking at Neil, Andrew cleared his throat, his plucking slowing for a moment before he opened his mouth to sing. His voice was somewhat higher in song, but quieter, too. He was slightly off-key. Neil didn’t much care. “ _Honeybee, go and tell the starling… to go and tell my darling, to hurry home to me… Honeybee, say I'm sad and lonely… and say I'm wishing only, his loving smile to see…_ ”

Neil felt like a piano wire about to snap. There was too much tenderness in this, so much that it struck into him like a wound. “Andrew…” He sighed, trailing off, because what could he say to answer the questions in Andrew’s song?

With a wry smile, Andrew set his guitar down in the grass. “What? You can’t tell me that was any good. I’m a little tone deaf I think.”

The waterfall rushed on, gently like rainfall. Neil bit his lip, completely lost on what to say next. Perhaps he didn’t have to say anything. He turned over in the grass, cupping Andrew’s sun-warmed cheek. He didn’t know what exactly, but he wanted something, or he was going to shatter like every breaking window of a sinking ship.

Time stretched and slowed, but in a warm, familiar way. The only magic in this was imagined. In the span of a second, Andrew’s eyes darted to Neil’s mouth, then up to catch his gaze, as if to make sure Neil knew what he was asking for. Neil absolutely knew what he was asking for. The frozen moment broke, coiling in on itself like an overextended spring as Andrew kissed Neil hard, and Neil allowed himself to fall back in the grass, pulling Andrew against him.

He came apart entirely too quickly, humming into Andrew’s warm, insistent mouth, his fingers bunching in the fabric of Andrew’s shirt. He hadn’t been touched like this in recent memory. The prickling of grass stems in his hair and against his scalp was worth every gentle touch. Andrew’s hands on the side of his neck, untucking his shirt, his own voice in his ears resonating with the echoes of Andrew’s song with every ‘yes’ he could give to every question Andrew could pose.

There was birdsong, somewhere. Andrew paused, stroking Neil’s hip with his thumb. “We can do more,” he offered, his cheeks somewhat red, his mouth looking obviously kissed, “whatever you want. I just want to make sure.”

Neil let his fingers play through the grass, twisting a stalk of dry vegetation around his finger. Did he want more? So badly. Letting out a shaky breath to steady himself, he sat up slightly, brushing his flannel clear of pollen as he hastily unbuttoned it, stripping to the waist before finding an answer. “Is this clear enough?” He asked, and before he could even properly settle back against the fabric of his discarded clothes, Andrew’s mouth had found his once again.

Andrew drew away from Neil’s lips, kissing his neck, his collarbone, and after obtaining permission, his chest. He was only going to take what Neil wanted to give him. There was a moment of clarity as Neil leaned back, his eyes flickering up to the periwinkle sky; there were lots of things Neil regretted doing. This wasn’t going to be one of them.

Even against the more sensitive areas of Neil’s chest, Andrew’s mouth was tender. A pang of heat ran like an electric shock to Neil’s hips, drawing a somewhat involuntary groan from a place deep in Neil’s chest. Andrew froze, drawing back. “Are you okay?” He asked, his hands leaving Neil’s body instantly.

Neil couldn’t help laughing, if only a little. “I’m more than okay,” he answered, hastily unbuckling his belt, “if you want to see just how okay I am…”

Andrew snorted. “You… here, let me.” Neil pulled his hands away, allowing Andrew to finish unclasping his belt, unbuttoning his pants and slipping his hand down, down to where Neil suddenly needed it to be.

Normally Neil would be unbearably embarrassed to be this loud, but they were so far away from where anyone could hear them. Andrew’s hand was indescribably gentle as he stroked Neil, letting him slide up in the crease between his middle and ring finger, rubbing half circles into the swollen tip until Neil bucked against the touch. And then they were kissing again, and Neil was swept away by the heat of it, by the smell of the grass and the cool water, by Andrew’s other hand on his neck and his chest and the curve of his side.

Neil shivered, the muscles of his inner thighs twitching fiercely. He could feel himself aching against Andrew’s hand. It wouldn’t be too long now. “Thank you…” He panted, lifting his hips off the grass.

“For what?” Andrew snorted, letting his hand slow.

“For this, for letting me stay… for…” He couldn’t thank Andrew just for being here, for being himself, but he wanted to.

Andrew bent down to kiss him back into silence. “You do not have to thank me for anything. I wanted this too.” He replied quietly, speeding up the motion of his hand once again. “Are you close?”

“Why did you have to ask?” Neil managed around a litany of soft noises. It was painfully obvious just how near to the edge he was. He lay back in the grass, raising his arms over his head to twist and knot in the stems, his chest catching with a half-strangled moan. It was all too much to focus on what Andrew was doing. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing deeply.

Neil came into Andrew’s coaxing fingers, gasping around his latest stream of moans. He kept his eyes closed tight as he shuddered down from his high, but opened them as he gently pulled Andrew down to fold him against his side, kissing him lazily in the aftershocks.

Neil could maybe get used to this.


End file.
